


Moving On

by viralmysteries



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-04-12 21:09:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 52,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4494777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viralmysteries/pseuds/viralmysteries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the events of The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt. The story of Triss Merigold after the events of the last game. Massive spoilers of the books and all three games, especially TW3. Chapter 1 explains world setting after the game. Feedback is appreciated! Triss/OC</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kovir is Beautiful This Time of Year

World Setting, following ending to Witcher 3:

-Ciri lives, becomes a witcher

-Radovid dies, Nilfgaard wins the war, and Temeria becomes autonomous vassal

-Keira lives, adventures with Lambert

-Geralt ends up with Yen, mages are saved from Novigrad, and Triss becomes Koviri advisor

-Cerys is queen of Skellige, Bloody Baron lives, seeks cure for wife

-Sara stays, befriends Corrine

-Whoreson Jr dies, Dudu replaces him

Spring 1274, Pont Vanis, Kingdom of Kovir and Poviss

Royal Palace

Triss couldn't help but be mesmerized by the view of the Gulf from the balcony in her room in the royal palace. From there, she could see every ship come into harbor, watch dockhands move shipments into the markets, and think peacefully as the waves rolled in and out, in and out. The day was looking beautiful already, the sky a perfect shade of white-blue that sparkled over the horizon.

True, Pont Vanis was no Vizima, no Novigrad, but in many ways she preferred the calmer setting. Fewer people, she couldn't help but think to herself. Fewer problems.

And while the winter in Kovir had been brutal (why anyone would build a settlement this far north was beyond Triss), the spring brought warm winds into the harbor and made it bearable.

More importantly, it made it different.

Different from a life full of past decisions, past commitments, past words. That was all that remained for Triss in Temeria. The past. She wanted a fresh start, and by the gods did she get one.

"Excuse me, Lady Merigold? Sorry to disturb, but I have a letter for you." The sound of her butler Markus startled Triss from her moment of solitude, but she quickly settled and smiled at him.

"Of course Markus." She walked over to where he was standing, accepted the letter, and proceeded to move to her desk. "You may return to your other duties."

"Of course my lady."

Triss smiled again as she heard the door close as she sat down and began opening her letter. The gods bless that boy's heart.

She opened the letter, and quickly her mood changed. It was written in Philippa Eilhart's handwriting. While she expected it to be another summons for a lodge meeting (Triss was proud to have been a member, but was looking to put that past behind her now), what she found was something else.

Philippa wanted help acquiring a magical artifact. One she claimed would allow her to see and communicate with ghosts. What did she need such an artifact for? The gods themselves know.

An object that would allow someone to see and communicate with ghosts…why do I feel like I've heard of that before? Triss could have sworn that she'd seen something that kind before…

…back at Kaer Morhen. Her face went sour, as she realized why she'd recognized it. Geralt had something of the sort, a lamp that he had kept with him when she came to protect Kaer Morhen. She had no idea where Geralt was, and wasn't really looking forward to seeing him again, especially with all things considering…

I mean, yes I used him, but so did Yen! I lied to him, but so did Yen! Stupid drink at the Vegelbuds…

Triss knew she would need to pay Kaer Morhen a visit if she had anyway of finding Geralt. Plus, it would mean seeing Ciri again, which was always a positive.

Later that day…

Kaer Morhen, Kaedwen

"Ciri, you sure you want this archway built? I'm pretty sure it's cursed!" Eskel was adamant that wall was a lost cause. Then again, he had been convinced Kaer Morhen was a lost cause, but Ciri had been able to convince him otherwise. Together they had gathered the resources necessary to rebuild Kaer Morhen, but it wasn't going all to plan.

"You're a witcher, curses are no problem!" Ciri popped back up from the top of the scaffold, looking down into the courtyard where Eskel and the laborers were attempting to put up an archway for the fifth time in a moon. She had to admit, the reconstruction was proving harder than she had anticipated. She hadn't realized how little attention had gone into the foundations of the building, which made it difficult to lay down new structures. Still, in true witcher fashion, she was going to be as stubborn as the wall, and would not let small setbacks prevent her goal; a Kaer Morhen as beautiful as the old paintings and books showed.

As she headed down to the courtyard she was prepared to chide the boys in their laziness; they had taken a break from the lifting and were playing gwent. But before she could say anymore, she heard the distinctive sound of a portal opening. She immediately reached for her blade, before realizing who it was.

"Triss!" Ciri screamed as she shifted straight in front of her, giving her a big hug.

"Little sis, look at you, you're as beautiful as ever!" Triss was surprised at first, but delighted to see Ciri so glad to see her.

Ciri settled herself and immediately asked, "What brings you to our humble but growing abode?" She motioned to the scaffolding and piles of building materials scattered all over the keep.

"Oh wow, the reconstruction is coming along after all!"

"Yep, Geralt and I called in a few favors, threw in some coin, and here we are. However, they," as she motioned to the workers, "have a tendency to slack off." "Hey Eskel!" she shouted, "Play gwent when the walls finished or your room will smell like Lil Bleater's shit for a fortnight!"

Eskel grumblingly got up. "Good afternoon Triss. There's spirit in the hall if you want some", as he ordered the men to lift the base up one more time.

"Which reminds me again, what brings the noble advisor Triss Merigold to Kaer Morhen?"

"I am looking for a magical lamp that allows the user to communicate with ghosts and specters. I believe Keira gifted one to Geralt, but I have no idea where Geralt is. I was hoping you could help me find him. I know he's off the Path, but he and Yen never mentioned where they were going." Triss tried her best to not give away how she felt about all of that. It doesn't matter anymore. It's the past, you two moved on, it's over.

Have I moved on?

"Well, Geralt and Yen bought homes all over the world, and they cycle through them throughout the year. They wintered here, but they left a moon ago to Skellige. I suppose you should visit Queen Cerys in Kaer Trolde. She probably knows where Geralt and Yen went."

"Are you sure Geralt didn't leave it here?"

"Certainly. I cleaned his room the other day. The only things in there are trophies." Ciri said, matter-of-factly.

"Very well." She huffed, realizing she couldn't avoid seeing Geralt and Yen. It couldn't be all bad, right?

…right?

That night…

Kaer Trolde, Ard Skellig, Skellige Isles

Main Bedchamber

Cerys had a long day, and was looking forward to some long awaited rest. The Drummonds had been on her tail for a fortnight about some familial squabble over a random line in the woods that they claimed an Craite guards had messed with. The uniting of the jarls was proving every bit as difficult as her father had anticipated.

The palisades have not been maintained for some twenty odd years. This is about the raid parties. The Drummonds won't back down until I let them conduct a raid on the Nazairi coast. Why is it that I care more about their men then they do?

Cerys' internal monologue was interrupted by the opening of her chamber door. She turned and found Triss Merigold, being escorted by a an Craite guard.

"Triss my dear, how have you been?" she said, smiling. "Who would have guessed the winds would have picked you up?"

"I'm sorry for the lack of notice, Your Majesty-"

"Oh piss off with that sort of tongue. I'm no Continental nobleman. You call me Cerys."

"Of course, Cerys." Triss had to admit that not being formal to a ruler was strange to her after returning to life in a royal court. Then again, Skelligers are different. "I was looking for Geralt and Yennefer. Ciri told me they came to Skellige, and I was hoping you knew where they were."

"Of course I can help you out dear." She moved towards the map on her desk of the entire Skellige Isles. "They bought a small cottage on the other side of this lake. It's across from the sawmill, north of Rannvaig. Geralt saved that sawmill, did ya know? Killed the drowners who had been holding it for months. Locals love him for it."

Look at that, the noble Geralt of Rivia, always saving people. "Thank you so much Queen Cerys, I'll be sure to head out-" Triss started to head for the door when Cerys grabbed her by the shoulder.

"You'll do no such thing, lass. You must stay the night at the least. Your business can wait till then, can't it?"

"I…I suppose so." Triss said, apprehensively.

The Next Day…

North of Rannvaig, Ard Skellig, Skellige Isles

It wasn't until past midday that Triss arrived at the sawmill; Cerys proved to be quite the host, and refused to let Triss leave so quickly.

She rode into the area to find close to a dozen people tending to the mill; several different families of all ages looking lively and happy.

"Oooh, who's she? Mummy, who's the lady on the horse?" One boy chimed to his mother.

"I like her hair. It looks like fire." Another girl said coyly to her friend.

"Good day, stranger. There anything I can help you with?" An older lady, clearly nearing her fifties, said, holding a basket of grain.

"Yes, I was looking for the witcher Geralt of Rivia and his…" Triss was struggling to get the words out, when the little girl exclaimed.

"The witcher? He lives in that house with his pretty pretty wife. She's nice. She gives us candy and toys. She has nice hair too." The little girl pointed to a house on the other side of the lake.

The girls' words cut into Triss much harder then she had hoped for, but she tried to stay strong and not let her emotions be seen.

"Thank you darling. I'm a good friend of theirs and I just wanted to see how they were doing."

"Oh." The girl said, her face got dejected. "I don't think they are doing well. They never come outside until the afternoon, and when we go near their house, we always hear strange noises-"

"What did I tell you kids? Don't worry about them. Now go play with pa." The mother chided the girl, who scurried off. "You're friends are fine, you-"

"I get it ma'am. Thank you for everything." Triss quickly mounted her horse and rode off towards the house, trying her best to put the thoughts the girl had given her out of her mind.

I bet he's ploughing Yen right now, the sonnaofabitch is. Why should I even bother? As she rounded the bend towards the house, she noticed two people were outside on the small harbor. She decided to dismount her horse and walk up quietly, quickly realizing it was Geralt and Yen. Yen was sitting on the harbor, looking out towards the other side of the lake, her back to Triss, and Geralt was floating in the water right in front of her, with his eyes closed.

He also happened to be wearing nothing but underwear.

As she moved closer towards them, she began to hear what they were talking about.

"And so the Zerrikanian tailor tried to tell me that my dress couldn't be made of silk because he didn't have silk, and I told him what kind of tailor doesn't have silk? It's the single most popular clothing material in the world-" Yen was going on passionately about some dress when Geralt interrupted her.

"Hate to interrupt you Yen, but it appears we have a guest." His eyes were still closed, but a smirk appeared on his face. Yen turned to look, and her face lit up immediately. "Triss!" She ran up and gave her a strong hug. Do people think I died or something? What's with the big hugs? Triss was surprised Geralt had noticed her. "How-"

"Did I notice you? Witcher senses. I heard you riding in just a moment ago." I also heard your racing heart, but Geralt chose to let that detail stay between him and Triss.

"Come, let us go inside, Geralt. We must be courteous to our guests." Yen said as she scurried into the house. Triss followed in, but stalled for just a moment to watch Geralt climb out of the water. The sun caught him in the perfect moment, and she was reminded of the great body he had. Even now, he was ripped.

"What? I'm retired, not dead." Geralt quipped, upon catching Triss' gaze as he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. Triss looked away quickly and bolted into the house. Geralt cracked a wide smile. This should be interesting.

Geralt headed to the upper floor to change into regular clothes, while Yen poured them all drinks. She handed a glass of Erveluce to Triss, and took a seat by the main mantle, directly across from Triss.

"This is a beautiful home you have here. How did you happen upon it?" Triss remarked, glancing around.

"Geralt found it when he came to Skellige. The owners abandoned it long ago, it fell into disrepair. He thought it was in a good place, though, so we had it restored and rebuilt. The view is incredible during sunset." Yen said, swirling her glass around as she talked. She sounded like a noblewoman, not the dangerous Yennefer of Vengerberg.

"And that…smell?" Triss said, her mind trying to concentrate. "Is that…rope?" She asked, a quizzical look on her face.

Yen paused mid-swallow, freezing in place. Her face lit up red like Triss' hair. Triss could hear Geralt laughing uncontrollably above them. Yen took her merry time swallowing, thinking.

"It's…uhm…it's…"

"It's the smell of the rope I use for trophies Triss." Geralt said, chuckling as he walked down the steps in a simple tunic and trousers. He grabbed his mug of Kaedwenian stout and took a seat, marveling at the awkwardness of the situation.

Triss' face remained confused for a moment, and she looked back and forth between the two, before she realized.

Her face lit up in embarrassment as well, causing Geralt to begin laughing again.

"So…Triss…how has Kovir been treating you?" Yen asked, attempting to change the subject into something she was more comfortable with.

"It's been great. I miss the familiarity of Vizima, but, you know how it is. A fresh start is always good for the soul."

"Someone's been reading folk nonsense." Geralt snickered as he took another sip.

"Oh come off it Geralt. Everyone's been looking for peace after everything that happened." Yen chided Geralt, touching his knee in a passive aggressive manner. A very, He's mine, bitch manner.

"How goes your adventures? Ciri mentioned you traveled around the world?"

"You went to Kaer Morhen? How is it? How was Ciri?" Geralt pipped up, immediately interested in a way that only further irritated Triss.

"Ciri is fine, Kaer Morhen is fine. The construction continues. But really, where else have you been?" She looked around, and noticed trinkets of all different designs and patterns.

"Where haven't we been? Toussaint, Nazair, Zerrikania. I must say, Triss I've never been more relaxed and happy in my entire life." Yen looked at Geralt, and they gave each other a knowing smile.

"No offense, but how do you afford this?" Triss could not imagine the costs of maintaining so many homes, and constantly traveling around the world is dreadfully expensive, even for a witcher and a sorceress.

"None taken Triss. When everything about Ciri was all said and done, Yen and I walked away quite wealthy. Wealthy enough that we'd basically never have to work another day in our lives." Geralt explained. "We figured out that we could easily live on for decades and decades cycling from area to area, living life as we saw fit. To be honest with you Triss, I'm done with the hard life. They may say no witcher has ever died in his bed," Geralt raised his glass, "but I aim to be the first. I believe Yen and I have earned it." With that, he finished his drink, putting it down with a definitive thunk.

"Dandelion would certainly be able write ballads till the end of time about the irony; Geralt of Rivia, the brave and noble White Wolf, dying on his own terms, in a bed by his loved ones." Triss remarked, smirking.

"Dandelion could write a ballad about how he disliked his mushroom stew. Doesn't mean shit. So what brings you out here, Triss? Surely it must be important, to come to us simple folk while you are on duty, advising a king and all." Geralt's voice dripped with sarcasm, only further angering Triss.

"I need the lamp Keira gave you. The one that lets you communicate with specters." Triss said, her temper slowly seeping into her voice. Don't let his attitude get you Triss. He's just doing it to test you, to see how you react.

Geralt looked surprised. "What on earth do you need that damned thing for? Sure you can have it, but I'm not sure what you could use it for." He got up and headed into a separate room, shuffling through a chest to grab it. He came back with the lamp and handed it to her quite flippantly.

"Damn thing only works for some specters and wraiths, and doesn't really let you communicate that well. Hardly that useful if you ask me. Keep it. I'll never find a use for it. The only time it came in useful, I found a plague maiden pretending to be a ghost."

Triss looked at Geralt with an even more confused face.

"Long story. It involved a monster-infested island, that stupid lamp, and far too many mice for my enjoyment."

Triss wanted to ask more, but realized it was best she got back to Kovir. "Well, it's been great getting to see you two again, but I really must get going-" Triss got up, put the glass on the table, and headed towards the door.

"Oh don't leave yet Triss, stay for dinner at least!" Yen got up, reaching for Triss' shoulder.

"I'd love to, but duty calls."

"We'll be sure to visit sometime!" Yen said, as Triss opened a portal back to Pont Vanis.

"You should. Kovir is beautiful this time of year." With that, the redheaded sorceress disappeared into the portal, and silence returned to the lakeside home.

Geralt slipped behind Yennefer, his hands on her waist, his chin on her shoulder.

"Rope, or no rope?" Simple question really.

Yen looked out to the horizon, a wicked smile on her face. Her eyes filled with passion.

"Rope. Lots of it."

End of Chapter One


	2. Hunting the Hunters

Chapter Two: Hunting the Hunters

_Spring 1274, Pont Vanis, Kingdom of Kovir and Poviss_

_Royal Palace_

The silence of the room was shattered when Triss' portal opened, with her in tow, carrying the lamp she had just acquired from Geralt. However, any plans she had to spend the rest of the day with were interrupted immediately. She walked into the main section of her room to find Markus pacing back and forth, clearly anxious.

"My lady Merigold! Thank the gods you're here. The king wishes to see you at once. He has summoned you to the council chamber." Markus expressed a sigh of relief, audibly relaxed that Triss had finally arrived. Triss was surprised, but left the lamp in her room and headed off to the chamber immediately.

 _What could the king need me so urgently for? There was no scheduled meeting, so something must have gone wrong…_ She shuddered to think of what could possibly await her. The sense of urgency and worry reminded her of the days she spent in hiding in Novigrad, or even her old days advising King Foltest. She had hoped to avoid that here, in a small and detached kingdom.  _Nothing bad happens in Kovir._

_Nothing ever happens in Kovir._

She found the door of the council chamber flanked by knights of King Tancred's personal guard.  _Shit, something has gone horribly wrong_.  _He never brings that many guards._ Upon walking inside, she found the entire council in their seats. King Tancred was sitting on his raised chair in the farthest portion of the table. From there he could see everyone and hear everyone. Triss carefully and quickly walked to her seat a few spots down from the king. An awkward silence filled the room; it was clear they were in the middle of a heated discussion when Triss interrupted them.

"Your Majesty, I apologize deeply for being late, I was very-" Triss bowed much more obviously than usual, hoping the king was not too displeased at her tardiness.

"I understand Lady Merigold. You may take your seat." King Tancred waved his hand. It was clear there were more important things to handle. "Would any of you be so kind as to explain to Miss Merigold the reason for this meeting?"

The viceroy, Jon, got up in his seat. "If I may, Your Majesty?" The king nodded, and Jon began, "For hundreds of years, Talgar has relied on the deep mineral mines of the Dragon Mountains for trade. It's this mining that has kept Kovir strong for centuries. Recently, monsters began appearing in the mineshafts, and thus mining operations have ceased. A witcher was hired to take care of the problem, but he has yet to return. Two days ago, a small detachment protecting the Hengfors League's ambassador to Kovir was attacked in Berniken, the local capital. Only one man of that detachment remains, and he is with us at the moment." The viceroy pointed to a man, who had been sitting patiently in the corner. The man was nursing several wounds, and was dressed in dirty rags. The man jumped up upon hearing himself be mentioned, and immediately interrupted Jon.

"I'm telling yous, it was a massive monster! It has huge horns, at it made this loud noise that could knock you out in an instant! And then there were big ghouls, dozens of them, bucket fulls of the bastards! They cut us down like we were nothin!" The man bolted out of his seat, racing around, raving like a madman, before two guards grabbed him and restrained him.

"…Yes, indeed. It appears whatever we are dealing with is sentient enough to communicate with other monsters. Something needs to be done; we must find out what happened to the ambassador, or we risk a crisis with the Hengfors League. We must reopen the mines, or we will run out of goods for trade in a moon. Half the farmers of the region are too terrified to tend to their fields, so we risk no food in Talgar by harvest. The people of Berniken need protection, or we risk a refugee crisis. Hundreds, if not thousands are going to be affected." With that, Jon took a definitive look around the room, and sat down. Triss had no idea what to say.  _Sentient monsters working together and plaguing the countryside? National crisis? It's just like Temeria after all._

"General Frederick, you may make your proposal." It was obvious from Tancred's tone that this was not going to be a good proposal.

The stuffy general, wearing an armor coat decorated with far too many medals, stood up, lifting his chin to the ceiling, "The Koviri Chargers have yet to see action. Give me leave to seize the land-"

"I am not going to let you take an army and put a whole region under martial law. This isn't Nilfgaard or Redania, General Frederick. Remember that." King Tancred's eyes were glaring daggers at the general. Triss had remembered the two disagreeing, but never this aggressively.

"I don't need a whole army, I just need twenty men-"

"Oh shut your bollocks about twenty men! You can't do shit with twenty soldiers trained with steel! Koviri charger or not, we can't fight monsters like we do men!" The exclamation came from the treasurer, Alexander. He stood up and stared directly at the general, yelling, "You want your men's blood on your hands? What makes you think you can fight something that can defeat a witcher?"

"So you have something better, Sir Trojden? Or are you denying the brave soldiers of this country the chance to prove themselves because you just enjoy it?" The general spit back, clearly angered by the treasurer's remarks.

"Yes, I do have something better! We happen to be in a city full of mages, all immensely grateful for our protection. Perhaps our mages can help us handle this problem." With that, Alexander look directly at Triss, hoping for some help.  _Shit, should I say something?_

"I'm certain I could find a team of mages who could help tackle this problem. We would need a small escort, but that is all." Triss stammered out.  _Ploughing hells, what did I just agree to? Witches don't kill monsters, witchers do!_

King Tancred smiled slightly. "How long would you need to assemble a party?" he asked, clearly hoping to resolve the issue as quickly as possible.

"I would need at least a day. Perhaps two."

"Very well. You have two days' time to gather a mage party. You will leave from the Northern Gate with a dozen soldiers in escort. They will take you to Berniken. You are to find out what happened, find the ambassador and the witcher if they are still alive, and defeat whatever lies in those mines. Is that understood?" The king got up from his seat, and with that, everyone else got up as well.

"Completely, Your Majesty." Triss nodded her head, getting up from her seat.

"This council is adjourned." With that, everyone filed out of the room.

_Two days!? I suppose it will have to be quality, not quantity…_

**Two days later…**

_Pont Vanis, Kingdom of Kovir and Poviss_

_Northern Gate_

Triss looked over the crew she had assembled as the escorts brought out the horses they would be riding.  _I know we can't afford to waste any more time, but..._

_No buts. King's orders. We are going to fix this. We have to; we can prove the North that mages can be a help._

With the horses saddled up, she looked around at the four mages she had recruited. The girl closest to her was called Emily; she had long, flowing blonde hair and specialized in wild magic. The boy directly next to her was Albert, a small skinny boy with a pale complexion and coal black hair. He was a wild card, but his mastery of lightning and wind was second to none.

The older man who was waiting far out by the edge of the gate was Fendar. He was a quiet man, over five centuries older than Triss. However, his understanding of monsters and beasts was unmatched; he was apparently good friends of George the Dragonslayer, the legendary witcher of the Griffin School.

And across from him was Beata, a native to the region. She was raised in Berniken back when Bernika, the town's namesake, was actually alive. Beata could manipulate ice and water in ways Triss could only imagine.

Together, the five of them were a powerful bunch. There were dozens more mages in the city, but most of them were either inexperienced, busy, or too scared to go out on such a dangerous mission.

"Miss Merigold, we are ready to depart when you are." The captain of the escort, Sir Bruno Nowak, was wearing full steel armor, with a Koviri crest emblazoned on the front. Triss nodded to him, and soon enough they were all heading out for Berniken.

**That afternoon…**

_Berniken, Talgar, Kingdom of Kovir and Poviss_

As the escort approached the hamlet, it became clear that the problem was going to be much worse than originally anticipated. The wooden walls that outlined the town were full of holes, and large sections of it had been torn to pieces. As they rode in, they saw the few remaining tending to their sick and wounded.

"Oh, it's the king's men! They've come to save us from this rotting hell!" an old gran yelled, laying against the side of a house that was torn in half. The dozen or so townsfolk all stopped what they were doing and looked at the party as they piled in.

"We are here from the direct order of his Majesty King Tancred, First of His Name. We have been tasked with protecting the people of Talgar and defeating the monstrous vermin that lies in the mines." With that, the captain's horse got up on its hind legs, as if it knew it would make the moment more dramatic.

"Will they make the monsters go away pa?" A little girl asked her father has he rewrapped cloth around her knee. The man just nodded his head. "I hope so."

The village elderman walked up to the party. "Is there anything you folk need to help you out? We haven't got much, but we'll do whatever it takes to make the monsters stop." The man was obviously very distraught, and his clothes were tattered.

However, before either Triss or Bruno could respond, Fendar, who had already dismounted, quickly asked, "How many did you lose?"

"Uh…eight in the initial attack. Three more since. Another five when you count the escort that came through."

"Did you find the ambassador's body?" Triss asked.

"No. The monsters must have taken him. Whether he was alive or not at the time, I can't tell you."

"When was the last time you saw the witcher who came through here?" Bruno asked, as he ordered his men to guard the entrances and exits to the village.

"Must have been around a fortnight ago. He came through, and we told him what happened. He agreed to help, but said he needed to take a look around first. Came back that night, ate with us, and left the next morning. Never came back."

"Did he mention anything? Any details that could help us find him or where he went?"

"He asked for the key to the mineshaft. I didn't want to give it to him at first, but I did in the end. Figured he can't search the mines if he can't get inside. He also asked us about a weird beast…a…lesher?" The elderman was grasping for words.

"A leshen?" Fendar pipped up, looking up from the wall that he was inspecting. With that, Albert's face seemed to get even paler.

The elderman's face lit up. "Yes, that was it. He wanted to know if we had seen some pillars in the woods. I'm not sure why, but he claimed it would help him figure out what was plaguing us."

"And the attack four days ago? What was it that came for you?" Emily asked, considerably softly compared to the rest of the party.

"A large fiend, taller than the walls. The ambassador was just buying some supplies when we heard a loud noise. I couldn't see for a few moments, and soon half the wall was missing. The thing trampled the guards and decimated the houses. Everyone ran to safety. I don't know where the ambassador went, but I couldn't pay attention with all the mayhem. And once the fiend had left, the ploughing ghouls showed up. The men of the village and the guards tried to fight them off, but they couldn't." The elderman was shaking at the thought of the attack, visibly and audibly distraught. He could hardly finish the last sentence.

"Don't worry sir. We will avenge them." Triss said, the anger in her voice. She was going to make whatever was behind this pay for this sort of harm. "Bruno, you know what you guys have to do. When we are ready to leave, we are going to need two of your men."

"Clear as day Merigold. Make those demons pay."

The mages all set about surveying the town and the surrounding area, trying to understand what had happened. Shortly, Fendar gathered them together outside the gates.

"There's a path of blood here, distinct from the rest. I may not have a witcher's nose, but I'm willing to bet this leads us to the ambassador. I asked the eldermen, and he said this is the way to the mineshaft." Fendar pointed up the path to the mountains.

"This is the way then. Everyone get ready, we leave as soon as possible." Triss ordered, as she headed back into the town to grab some additional potions and bombs. As she rummaged through her sack, she realized that she had the lamp as well.  _Huh. Don't know how useful it will be…_

_…then again, ghost of the witcher could come in handy…_

She decided to take the lamp. As a precautionary measure. The decision had absolutely nothing to do with its background or who gave it to her.

Absolutely. Nothing.

The mages and their guards began marching up the path towards the mine entrance. As they did, Triss decided to pick at Fendar's mind.

"What do you think Fendar? What's going on here?"

"Hm. Something was commanding the fiend and the ghouls. Whatever it was, it sensed the arrival of the ambassador and ordered the attack. I would have guessed a leshen, but leshens can't control fiends. Least, I've never seen a leshen do that. But if the witcher found totems, there must have been a leshen around here. That would explain the wolf tracks around the base. But those tracks are much older."

"How do you know so much about monsters?" Albert pipped up.

"Learned from the best kid. No one can understand a monster better than a witcher."

"Yeah, but witchers don't get along well with other people. What made the one you knew bearable?"

"Witchers can be very understanding, when you get to know them." Triss said, a great deal of emotion in her voice. It was clear to Albert that he had hit a soft spot, so he shut up and looked away, making Emily chuckle to herself. Beata simply rolled her eyes.

Fendar looked at Triss, with an intrigued smile. He tried to gauge her emotions, attempting to see where that feeling had come from. "You know how it is lass. We freaks have to look out for one another, right?"

Triss looked at him and glanced down. "Sounds like something-", and then she stopped herself.  _Sounds like something Geralt would say._ "Like something…my witcher friend would say." She struggled to get the words out.

_That's what we are now. Friends. That's all we will ever be. Why is that so fucking hard for me to say?_

"Wait, is the witcher friend that man who helped us flee Novigrad? Girl, if I were you he'd be more than just a friend…" with that, Beata elbowed Emily in a knowing manner, and the two gave each other knowing smiles.

Triss' face got red with anger and jealousy. She gritted her teeth, trying to prevent the other mage's words from hurting her.

_He had been more than just a friend. He had been more than just a friend. He had been more than just a friend…_

"Triss, are you okay?" Albert said, clearly worried. "You're mumbling to yourself-"

"He had been more than just a friend okay! He had been! And then he left, okay! We went our separate ways and it's over, now shut your fucking mouths about it!" Triss screamed, stopping where she was standing, staring intensely at the ground. Her throat felt like it was burning, and birds scattered around them. Everyone, even the guards, paused for a moment.

"Sorry, Triss, didn't mean to-" Beata mumbled, clearly scared that she had pissed Triss off so.

"It's fine. Whatever. Let's just focus on the mission at hand okay?"

The walk to the mineshaft was silent from then on. When they arrived, they found the entrance surrounded by white wolves and small ghouls. A small fight ensued, and when it was over, they inspected the entrance. It was blown completely open, leaving the entrance wide open. At the base of the entrance, however, was something else.

"A stag skull, surrounded by cut roots." Fendar said, reaching down and picking up the skull.

"A dead leshen." Albert said, the words barely escaping him.

"Looks like the witcher got to him after all. Clearly not the only beast out here though." Triss surveyed the landscape. "He must have gone into the mineshaft. It definitely looks like it was destroyed by something big though."

"You think the fiend got to him?" Emily asked, her voice soft.

"Let's hope not." With that, they ventured into the mines.

**A few hours later…**

The mages had been traveling in what felt like circles. They repeatedly found small nests of monsters, first ghouls, then nekkers, then endregas. They encountered nests that had clearly already been destroyed, but had no clue where the witcher could be.

But then they moved into a large cavern, with a much higher ceiling then the tunnels had been. There were signs of a fight; stalagmites were broken, signs of burns and large dents in the flooring.

But most importantly, the room was covered in dried blood.

"At least a few days old." Fendar said, as he studied the blood splotches. "If he was anywhere, he was here. Must have fought the fiend in here. Clearly didn't win, because the fiend got out alive. He can't be far." His voice was somber. Their chances of finding the witcher alive were slim, if any.

While Triss and the other mages were searching, Albert was standing almost completely still. When Triss noticed, she called to him, but he motioned her to keep quiet. Soon the whole room was silent, save for the occasional wind blowing through the massive chamber.

"He's close. Must be in a nearby cave." Albert rushed towards a wall, following it along the length of the room to a small inlet. "Look! I found a trail of blood!" the crew all headed down the path, a small path close to the end of the room. They followed the trail, carefully searching for the blood drips, which had dried.

After a few minutes, they found the end of the trail. At the end, a small raised platform. Atop that platform? A man, wearing green and black scaled armor, with two swords on his back, his back to the wall, his head drooped on this shoulder. There were several potion bottles on the floor around him, some empty, some not. His armor was damaged, cut in places. His body was pale, drained of life. His black hair was in a mess, his eyes were closed shut. His breath was rare and short, barely audible.

And on the man's neck? A silver medallion, shaped like a griffin.

_End of Chapter Two_


	3. Red and Black, Green and Gold

Chapter Three: Red and Black, Green and Gold

_Author's Edit: This chapter was originally titled Red and Black, Green and Green. Once I realized all witchers have the same eye color, I realized I had to change it._

The party rushed towards the unconscious witcher. They began searching for potions to help him out with. "Find his swallow potion, it's the one that looks orange!" Triss barked at the mages. She didn't know terribly much about witcher potions, but she remembered that Geralt always kept swallow on him for healing.

"Found it!" Beata exclaimed, handing it to Triss. However, before she could open the bottle and feed it to the witcher, Fendar was already giving the man a different potion. It was in a much smaller bottle, and the liquid was a pure snow white. "…what…what are you doing?' Triss asked, apprehensively. She knew Fendar wouldn't try to hurt the man, and he obviously knew more, but she figured that swallow was the safe bet.

"White Raffard's Decoction. Strong stuff, but it's much quicker and much more effective then swallow ever is. Someone get out a jug of water, the man's going to need it shortly." With that, Fendar finished giving the man the bottle and laid him on his side. Within a few short seconds, the witcher's body started convulsing. At first it was small twitches, but it changed into full body movements. He started moving all over the place until he was on his back. His body froze with his chest pushed towards the ceiling, his legs holding the ground as tightly as possible. His muscles were pulled so tightly they looked like steel.

He stayed in that position for a few long seconds, before his eyes shot open. His eyes were a bright golden yellow, sharply contrasting the dark green of his armor. They were bloodshot, and they began darting around. His chest slammed into the ground, and he began gasping for air. He started coughing, panting.

"Water….need…water…" He croaked, barely able to get words out, his hands grasping around. Triss handed him a jug, and he proceeded to drink the entire thing in a single shot. He lifted himself up, and laid with his back to the wall again. He kept blinking and breathing, slowly trying to bring himself back to normal. "Thank you. All of you. I owe you lot my life." He panted between each word. He looked around at all of the people in the room, inspecting them all. His eyes lingered when he saw Triss, and a small smile broke across his face. But when he looked at Fendar, his complexion changed immediately.

"Master Fendar, I am so sorry. I didn't realize you were here!" With that, the witcher gave Fendar a strong handshake, and his face had a massive sign of relief. He looked around at the different potions on the ground around him. "You gave me White Raffard, didn't you?" He asked, with a knowing look on his face.

"I always told you I preferred it to swallow. Harder on the body, but I prefer to see my witchers annoyed and alive, not satisfied and dead."

Triss looked at the two men, glancing between them. "You two know each other?"

The witcher looked at Triss, realizing he should explain himself. "Indeed, Master Fendar would often preform experiments at Kaer Nyseen. He helped administer my Trial of the Grasses. He worked with us witchers for years."

"Damien here has been a witcher of the Griffin School for what…fifty…"

"Sixty years. The years are wearing on you, old man." Damien chuckled.

His eyebrows scrunched up. "You live as long as I have boy, the years will wear on you too. But it's good to see you. So what happened to you? We were sent by the king to help you clear out the mines."

"Rode into town, got a contract to fight some monsters in a mineshaft. Nothing special, standard witcher work. Set about scouting the area, and I found a totem pole not too far from the mines. Realized there definitely a leshen, but it was different. The totem was tall, signifying strength, but definitely new. The wood was fresh and the markings still raw. I knew something was going on, so I spoke with the villagers. They clearly did not know what was going on, so I set out again in search of totems. Found two more, destroyed them, and fought the leshen near the entrance."

"We found the head. It was quite large, even for a leshen." Fendar was listening intensely, trying to piece together what he knew with what Damien was saying.

"Headed through the mines, fought a ton of monsters. Earth elementals, gargoyles, arachas, werewolves. I kept finding trails of magic connecting them all, but I couldn't find where it was coming from. I've never seen something control that many types of beasts at once. But then I found the fiend." His face went dark. "I've fought fiends before, but never that big, never that strong. I'd spent days in the mines, my armor was damaged, my swords were dulling. I made some bad mistakes, and the fiend threw me against the wall. Fairly certain he cracked some ribs, almost broke my back. I'd gotten some hits on him, so he ran away once he'd thought he'd taken care of me." He winced, thinking of the pain he had been in and was still in.

"I crawled into this inlet and tried to patch myself up, but I could barely keep consciousness. I tried to find my bottle of White Raffard, but I could hardly see. I grabbed some Golden Oriole, drank it, and everything went dark. Next thing I knew, I saw you lot."

"Smart decision. That Golden Oriole probably stopped any poison in you from killing you. You might not be alive if you hadn't done that." Rendar started cleaning up the potions, and handed Damien swallow and something else that Triss did not recognize, but had a murky white color.

Damien drank the swallow, waited, and then drank the other potion. "I am so sorry, I should introduce myself. I am Damien of Oxenfurt, the Silver Blade of Hengfors, witcher of the school of the Griffin. And who are you lot?"

"I'm Albert Winograd." Albert pipped up quickly, clearly in awe at the witcher.

"I'm Beata of Berniken." With that, she flipped her hair, trying to show an air of flippancy and disregard.

"I'm Emily." The girl's voice could barely be heard, and her eyes could not even meet the witcher. She was clearly star struck with the man in front of her, and her hair blocked her face.

"And I'm-"

"Triss Merigold, the Fourteenth on the Hill. I know you." Damien's golden cat eyes stared right at Triss' face. His interruption threw her off, and she looked up to see the man staring directly into her eyes. His gaze was intense, and his smile infectious. They shared a long moment, before Fendar broke the silence.

"Well, I think it's time we took some rest now. We all need it, including you Damien, right?" Fendar tried to get Damien's attention with his tone, but the man would not take his eyes off of Triss, who didn't even hear what Fendar had said.

"Of course Master Fendar. Why don't I take first watch? I haven't been up in days, and I have armor that needs repairing." His gaze and tone implied to Triss that he wanted her to stay on watch with him.

After the quarters were set up, Triss and Damien sat down opposite one another in front of the rest of the group. Triss could see the witcher's face clearly from the torchlight they had lit, and she couldn't help but be lost as his hands ran over his plates and chains over and over again, hammering out dents and reconnecting broken pieces.

She remembered what Beata had said earlier… _If I were you, he'd be more than just a friend…_

"Something on your mind, Miss Merigold? You've been staring quite intently at this chest plate for quite some time now."

"No it's just…" and she could find herself able to finish the sentence.  _That I can't believe what is going on in this mineshaft…That I'm terrified not one of us will make it out alive…_

_That I can't get the image of you without your shirt on out of my mind…_

"I get it. Witchers aren't really good talkers too, for the most part."

Triss wasn't really sure what to say.  _Goddamnit Triss! You're better than this. You're not an adolescent girl anymore, you're a fierce sorceress with nothing to hide and nothing to prove! Act like it!_

_How do fuck do the others keep their calm so well?_

"I…I was just wondering how you knew who I am." Triss asked, trying not to look at Damien directly. "I don't think we've ever met before."

Damien looked at her, smiling. "No, not really. But I have seen you before. I visited Vizima once when you were still their court advisor. I only saw you for a moment when I visited the throne room. I was there on marginally important business, which is why we never spoke. However, I have to admit, even then, you struck my eye as something else entirely." Triss blushed with that. "I hope that's a good thing." She retorted back.

Damien decided to respond to that with a raised eyebrow. "But anyways, all who travel on the path have heard the classic tales, including that of the brave and admirable Triss Merigold, whose fire hair burned almost as hot as the flames that flew from her hands." Damien's hands were outreached, pantomiming a dramatic poet, causing Triss to burst into laughter.

"What? Bard Dandelion's words, not mine."

"I know, I know, Dandelion can be quite overdramatic. But still, you've heard my story?" She was intrigued to find out what this witcher knew.

"Of course! From Sodden, to your time in court, to what happened at Loc Muinne." He face saddened upon the thought of the horrors. "I wasn't really sure what had happened to you until I heard about the mage flight to Kovir over a year ago. Half the North was a buzz about it; Triss Merigold, the charismatic leader of the mages of the North! You should hear what they have to say about you in some parts. Some see you as the symbol of the good magic can bring."

Triss couldn't help but think back to what Geralt had said all that time ago… _They don't have anyone else…_

"I mean, it didn't have to be me…It could have been anyone…" Triss tried to be modest, deflect some of the praise, but Damien wasn't buying it.

"Not sure what tosser filled your head with that nonsense, but the way I see it, the mages would have only rallied around you. People trust you more than any other sorceress."

_Is Geralt really a tosser?_

_It would certainly make things easier if he was._

"But enough about me. What about you, Damien of Oxenfurt? What's your story?" Triss threw Damien a curveball, trying to put him on his feet.

He was surprised by her sudden question, but responded quickly. "Born the son of a Novigrad whore. Never knew who my father was, but my ma died of Catriona when I was seven. Lived in an orphanage in Oxenfurt for years, until a witcher saved my guardian's life from a katakan in the streets. Invoked the Law of Surprise. I was waiting for him to come back and read me another story, so sure enough, I was the first thing he saw when he came home. The witcher took me to the Kaer Nyseen in Malleor. Spent years training, survived the trials, and became a witcher." He sounded less bitter than some other witchers Triss knew, but had the same fatalistic tone when taking about their path to becoming who they were.

"And the name? Silver Blade of Hengfors?" Triss asked, curious as to what that meant. "I've only ever heard of the Blade of Hengfors."

Damien chuckled to himself, and a broad smile filled his face. "That's an interesting story. Started out I was hunting down a serial killer in Hengfors. Got the guy in the end, but managed to piss off one of the major mercenary captains of Hengfors. He didn't appreciate me trespassing in his territory and damaging his property chasing down the killer. So he forced me into his fighting crew in the pits. You know how those work, right?"

"Of course." The fighting pits of Hengfors was, in theory, a crucible where young talented fighters could create a name for themselves, and get recruited into one of the major mercenary armies of the Hengfors League. In practice, however, it turned into a place where random outlaws, prisoners, cutthroats, or even normal citizens who had managed to piss off the wrong people went to die. However, surviving the twenty trials of the pits made one a Blade of Hengfors, an incredibly honorable title that automatically made one a Knight of the League. Doing so, however, was borderline impossible.

"Through a combination of skill, luck, and some strange sponsorships from noble ladies, I managed to survive all twenty trials, and freed myself from the captain. But as a witcher, I couldn't take the sworn position-"

"Because of the witcher's code, of course." Triss had remembered Geralt's use of a supposed witcher's code. As far as she could tell, it just meant to stay out of politics, but she was certain it didn't actually exist and just served as a useful excuse whenever one was needed.

"Exactly. So the Lord of the City decreed me a Silver Blade, to signify my success in the pits, but my lack of direct allegiance to the realm. To be honest, I'm just glad he didn't simply order my execution."

"Don't belittle yourself. That's quite the accomplishment." Triss was indeed impressed. The man was most certainly talented.

"Indeed, but Fendar would probably tell me that it was unwise to anger such people and that I should avoid getting myself into places like that. So how did Triss Merigold end up in some dry and disgusting cave in the middle of nowhere with a witcher desperately attempting to get her to lighten up?" He asked, as he put his armor away and started oiling his swords.

Triss waited to respond, partially because she wanted to think before answering. Partially also because she liked seeing her reflection in the blade as Damien slowly coated it in blade oil and began cleaning it.

"The option was either let one of the generals put the area under martial law and risk dozens if not hundreds of lives, or send in Kovir's newly acquired corps of mages. After all that has happened to mages in the North, I suppose I wanted to prove that we are still a help. This was my opportunity to do so."

"Also, what makes you think I'm not lightened up?" Triss asked defensively.

Damien shrugged. "You just look tense, is all. And while tension can be useful, right now it's going to make it difficult for you to sleep."

"I suppose so." Triss lowered her shoulders, looked at Damien, and tried to just stay calm.

When Albert finally stirred, ready to take second watch, that how he found them. Damien silent, the only sound the sharpening of his blade. Triss breathing quietly, staring deeply at the witcher. The torches' flames licked at the corner of Albert's vision, and from it he saw the two of them, illuminated with the fire. It seemed to accentuate their likeness and difference.

Together, they were red and black, green and gold.

_End of Chapter Three_


	4. Fools by Devilish Compulsion

Chapter Four: Fools by Devilish Compulsion

_Talgar Mines, Talgar, Kingdom of Kovir and Poviss_

Damien was the last to stir, taking his time getting up from the wolf hide he had been resting on. He woke to find the other's all eating around the fire, and decided to join them.

"Get good rest?" Fendar asked, clearly mocking him.

"Best in weeks Master."

"Good, because we're going to need you at your best."

"What's the plan?" Damien asked, taking a bit out of the grilled chicken sandwich that had been warming by the fire.

"Follow the other side of the cave. It probably goes even deeper than we are right now, so we have a chance of finding the monster lair."

"Very well. Give me a moment then. I got some potions to prepare." He finished his sandwich and headed back to his satchel. A few minutes later he came back with a few bottles of potions of various reds and blues.

"What are those?" Triss asked, curious. She had never seen Geralt carry around bottles that large, and had no idea what they could be used for.

"Mutagen decoctions. Really useful, but really potent. Got to watch your consumption of them, but otherwise they make everything so much easier." With that, Damien opened one of the bright blue bottles and drank it in one shot. The blood vessels on his face became slightly more pronounced, but other than that he looked fine.

With that, the group headed back into the large cavern where Damien had fought the fiend. They climbed up a ledge to continue along the path.

After a few minutes of walking, Damien pipped up, "I smell something." He paused. "Human urine. Fresh…"

"Someone else is down here." Fendar said gravely. With that, both guards drew their blades, and Damien drew his steel cutlass. They carefully walked down the path before finding themselves in another cavern. But this time, there was a lit campfire at the end, and three individuals were standing around it. There were a few dead human bodies lying around on the other side of the cavern, and all of the people had small axes at their hips.

"Who are ye?" One of the campers said, getting up and drawing his axe. "No one's allowed in these mines unless the lady allows it!" His face was angry, and the other campers flanked him and drew their weapons as well.

"Look, we are just here to help the people of Berniken." Damien tried to explain, putting his sword back in its hilt. He was hoping to keep the group from getting violent. "We learned monsters had taken control of the mines, driven out the locals. We are here to help recover it. Do you know anything about what happened?"

"Aye." The camp leader grew a devilish smile. "I know what you is talkin' bout. It wasn't monsters that killed the miners."

"If it wasn't monsters, then who did?" Triss asked, angrily. She was not certain about what was going on, but she was not willing to play games.

"We did lass. The sweet lady told us to. Said that we miners were ruining the land, corrupting it. Said she needed us to restore balance. So we told our commander we needed to leave, and he told us we were mad. So we killed him and his crew. Now the sweet lady can rebuild the land with the animals who were meant to live here." His smile was looking ever more corrupted and twisted, and his voice was getting creepier and creepier.

"You killed your own kinsman? What is wrong with you?" Damien exclaimed. He drew his blade again, ready to kill the nutjobs. "You will pay for what you have done."

"Wait!" Albert exclaimed, "There's some kind of magic holding them captive. Whoever this sweet lady is, she is controlling them, making them do what they did…like a curse."

Damien groaned.  _Witchers and curses._  "Very well. I won't kill them." With that, he waved his free hand, and all three of the men were suddenly dazed, and dropped their weapons.

"What…what did you do?" Triss asked, confused.

"I'm controlling their minds with Axii. For right now, I can stop them from doing anything. Quick, figure out what the curse is, so we can dispel it. I need to hold the sign, or they will snap out of it and attack us."

With that, the mages went to work, searching for clues and analyzing the miner's minds with magic. After a few hard minutes of work, full of Damien's constant reminders of the need for quickness, the mages were able to figure out the curse.

"It's a complex parasitic binding curse. The controller changes memories, thoughts, and actions to whatever they want. Whoever casted this is incredibly powerful and has no mercy whatsoever." Fendar reflected.

"Alright, when I say go, I am going to release the miners. You guys need to pin them down with magic, and I will remove the curse. Ready?" Damien looked around, and got a chorus of nods, "Go!" He flicked his wrist, and immediately the men snapped out of their lull, charging instantly, only to be immediately restrained by the mages. Damien then got on his knees, closed his eyes, and said the words required to break a binding curse. The men all passed out, and with that, the mages released the bonds.

"Did it work?" Triss asked. "Are they free?"

"If they wake up and don't try to kill us, then yes." They waited as the three men stirred, slowly getting up. Two of the miners simply sat down, but the leader got back up, brandished his axe and charged at Triss.

"Argh-", but before he could even come close to Triss, he was hit in the chest with a massive flow of energy from Damien's Aard sign, which slammed him again the ground. He got back up and dropped his axe, finally clear of the curse.

"So, you guys ready to explain what happened in here?" Damien asked, crossing his arms. The men were scrambling up, huddling back in fear.

"We didn't mean to hurt no one master witcher! Believe me, it was all that bloody witch, she made us do it!" The leader was in deep fear. "She was going to take our ears, she was she was. But we told her they wouldn't accept us without our ears. She got really angry, and then took control of our bodies! We didn't mean it, believe me sir!" The leader was prostrating before Damien, who was still greatly displeased.

"Tell me about this witch that you ran into. What did she look like? Did she summon all of the monsters that live here?"

The man stopped for a moment and thought. "When we first saw her, she was a beautiful lass, and she was so sweet and shy that we couldn't help but listen to 'her. Then we didn't give her our ears, and she got real mad master. Turned into an old hag, scared the shite out of us. She waved her hand and took control of us. And the monsters, pretty sure that was her. She kept shouting words into something and made terrible noises and shakings. Please save us witcher, please!" The man once again started groveling by Damien's feet, prompting him to move back.

"The witch you encountered, did she have a medallion, similar to the one the witcher is wearing?" Triss asked, pointing at Damien's griffin medallion.

"Yes miss, but it was a different shape…looked more like a wolf."

Damien looked to Triss, incredibly confused. "How did-"

"She's a Crone of Crookback Bog. The one who escaped." Triss said, matter-of-factly. Looking back at Damien, "Ciri ran into them once, they were working with the Wild Hunt. She tried to kill them all, but one of them escaped with Vesemir's medallion. This must be the other one."

Damien looked up, stupefied. "The Crones you say? Heard of them, but never dealt with them. If they are as the folk say, that explains the monster controlling. Certainly glad there's only one left, but we aren't Elder Blood. We have our work cut out for us."

Triss nodded. "Guards, stay here and protect the miners. If we don't come back soon, take them back to Berniken. We need to hunt the witch down."  _We also need someone to report back in case we all die_ , but Triss decided to hold back on that.

With that, the group continued through the mines in the direction the miners had told them to go.

"Ciri tell you anything about what it was like, fighting the crones?" Damien asked Triss as the group climbed up a ledge, continuing along.

"They were fast, hard hitting, and can summon monsters to fight for them."

"If that's the case, may I make a suggestion?" Damien asked, pausing.

"Of course…" Triss asked, confused, as everyone in the group stopped.

"You all stay right here. If I'm not back shortly, keep going." With that, he jumped onto a ledge and climbed up into a small inlet above them in the path. The group decided to stay stationary at the moment, waiting as Damien had asked.

 _He should be around here somewhere_ , Damien thought to himself, as he crawled along the path. Sure enough, it came to an end, and opened into a massive cavern. There were a few monsters below him. A few nekkers, some ghouls, a water hag.

Most importantly, however, was what was directly below him. The fiend. He could smell the poison he had used from the path the mages were still waiting in. He positioned himself as best he could, drew his silver blade, and jumped.

He landed directly on the beast's back, his knees on the fiend, his blade driven deep into the monster's heart. It awoke, and roared loudly, struggling to get up. It tried to buck Damien off, but in doing so, only made things worse; Damien held on by his blade, dragging it across the beast, down until he hit the floor, cutting a massive gash down its entire length. The fiend's guts poured out, and fell over, barely alive. With that, he stabbed in the eye and ended it.

Damien turned to see a room full of monsters all seething and ready to strike. "Come here, you pieces of filth." His eyes scrunched, his blade readied. He was like lightning, ducking and diving across the room, bursts of fire coming from his hands. At one point he was almost overrun by nekkers, only for them to go flying back in a blast as his shield was destroyed. He showed the beasts no mercy, and when it was all said and done, cut the fiends head off and carried it with him as he climbed back onto the path back to the mages.

Triss had heard noises, and was worried that something had gone wrong. She was pacing back and forth, hoping nothing had happened.

"We should consider continuing." Beata stated, trying to avoid Triss' gaze. "Damien's still not back and we don't know when-"

"We can wait a few more minutes okay?" Triss spat. She surprised Beata and herself with her emotional response.  _Why do I care so much about a damn witcher I met yesterday?_

But before she could say anything, either in apology or otherwise, a large object fell in front of her. She shrieked in shock, seeing a massive fiend head directly in front of her. Shortly after came Damien, feet first, covered in monster blood. He looked a little bit roughed up, but was otherwise fine. He was beaming ear to ear.

"Thanks for waiting-" He tried to quip before Triss slapped him across the face.

"You went after the fiend by yourself? You could have died!" She screamed. Damien flinched back, and started laughing, only angering Triss further. "You think this is all a game don't you,-"

"Triss calm down." He said, gripping her shoulders, still shaking his head from disbelief. "Only one of us could fit through that passage. I smelled the poison I used on the fiend, so I knew he was nearby. I caught him while he was sleeping and killed him. No problem. If I had waited, the crone would have woken him up and attacked us with him. I thought about the risks before I made the decision." His explanation seemed fine to everyone except for Triss.

"Still, you could have at least-" Triss stammered, realizing she was in the minority.

"Done what? Told you what I was doing? None of you would have let me. Triss I'm the witcher here. I know how to kill beasts. I can handle an injured sleeping fiend. But if it's any consolation to you, I'm sorry for putting myself at risk."

"…Thank you." She said quickly, looking away to hide the blushing. "Let's keep going shall we?" Triss marched forwards, hoping to hide her embarrassment.

Damien only smiled as he picked up the fiend head. "Yes. Let's."

_End of Chapter Four_


	5. Witches, Witchers, and Sorceresses

Chapter Five: Witches, Witchers, and Sorceresses

The group marched on further down the tunnel, with Damien in the front, Triss and Fendar directly flanking him, and the rest following up the tail. The trek was silent for a few minutes until Albert broke the silence.

"Can I ask you something, Damien?" His voice was a little soft. He knew there was tension in the group after Triss and Damien's little spat.

Damien glanced back quickly, smiled, and turned back forwards. "Of course."

"How are you completely fine after fighting the fiend? You don't have any scars or bleeding."

"Remember that mutagen decoction I drank earlier?" Damien wanted to test the boy's knowledge.

"Right, it was a dark blue. You said it helped you fight, but-"

"Specifically, it activates whenever I use a witcher Sign. The stamina drain I experience when I use a Sign activates the mutagens in the potion, and they start to heal my injuries. Since the Griffin School focuses heavily on Sign usage in combat, it makes for the perfect combination." He glanced at Fendar, who was nodding in approval at the forethought that had gone into that strategy.

"It also made your blood vessels pop out." Triss reminded him.

"Why of course, the decoctions are incredibly potent. Drinking more than two or three in a short period of time without meditation or White Honey could kill even the strongest of witchers. It's the price you must pay for incredibly useful and powerful potions."

The group continued along the path until they came into a large room with multiple large exits. The room was considerably cooler than any other room, as a byproduct of the gaping exits; each opened to a small ledge, but beyond that was nothing but ice and mountainous rock. They were deep within the Dragon Mountains at this point, much farther than they could have anticipated. In the center of the room was a ledge, and atop that was a cauldron slowly bubbling. The fire underneath it was weak. They group fanned out into the room, unsure what to expect. Damien drew his silver sword, and the mages all drew their arms, ready to cast. The room was silent.

"Someone, something, has been in here. Recently. Scent is still strong." Damien said, looking around. He saw a singular bird, a crow, perched on a ledge high up in the room. "Strange, my medallion's humming, but the only thing that's here is that -" But before he could finish his sentence he was caught in vines, shooting off the cauldron. The vines surrounded him, binding his arms and legs, and drawing him above the cauldron. The room filled with smoke, and from it all emerged the witch.

She was hideous, as hideous as Ciri and Geralt had described. She had the cone shaped hat, but it was tattered and damaged. She remained covered in rags, but they were cut up, damaged. But most importantly, in her hand was Vesemir's medallion.

"My oh my? What do we have here? Another witcher? I would have preferred the other one, but you will have to do." Her voice was terrifying, grating and infuriating at the same time. The crone turned to the mages. "Ooooooh. You all smell of fear. Especially you, firehead." With that, her long and disgusting finger pointed at Triss. "Regret, failure, and jealousy. You will taste the best. Shame my sisters could not be here to taste you. But never the matter." With that, she motioned to the gaps, as large earth elementals appeared from below. "Kill them all, but leave the firehead to me. I will kill her myself."

With that, the earth elementals charged. The mages fought back as best as they could attempting to dodge and strike when they could, but the elementals were incredibly strong, resisting all but the most powerful attacks. All the while, the Crone attempted to corner and kill Triss, pinning her against the wall and tearing at her flesh. Fortunately, the witch hated fire, so Triss was able to keep her away as best as she could.

While the group struggled to stay alive, Damien was fighting for his ability to breathe, as the vines were suffocating him. He tried to draw attention to himself, banging his boots against the cauldron, hoping one of the mages could loose a fireball at him and burn away the vines.

Damien's attempts at attention were answered by a spray of fire from Triss that burned the vines binding his hands. They also burned his hands, but it gave him the chance to blast himself away from the cauldron, grab his knife and cut away at the vines, finally freeing himself. He grabbed his blade, ready to join the fight.

He ducked, rolled, and struck the earth elemental closest to him directly in the knee. He then dodged its swing, rolled behind the elemental, and struck it in the back with Aard. This knocked the monster off balance, allowing Fendar and Albert to blow it apart with lightning. Damien then engaged the other monster, taking a direct hit in the chest with one blow, and jumping right in front of Beata as it came through for a second. Right before the second arm hit him, however, he threw up a shield, which the beast hit and destroyed, sending it backwards. To Beata and Emily, it was unbelievable; he looked like he hadn't even been hurt from the first hit! Damien rolled away to assist Triss as the other mages proceeded to take care of the earth elemental.

The witch had cornered Triss on one of the ledges. Neither moved, but both were itching to do so when Damien sank his sword deep into the crones left leg. This threw her off balance and allowed Triss to blast her in the face with a large fireball that burned off most of her face. The witch stumbled backwards, but then turned around and swiped Damien across the face with her claws, slashing across his cheeks, and knocking him back. The Crone charged at Triss, knocking her off the ledge, leaving her dangling by only her arms above the seemingly bottomless valley. The Crone smiled, ready to kill her, when Damien struck her directly in the throat, twisting and slicing, cutting the witch's head off. Her body collapsed, and she dropped the wolf medallion. Damien immediately went to help Triss up, but found she was stuck; her satchel was stuck to some undergrowth below the ledge, preventing her from moving up.

"Triss, you gotta cut away the satchel!" Damien said urgently, knowing he could only hold onto her safely for a minute or so at maximum. "We can always replace the stuff you lose!"

Triss thought about what was in there; some amulets, salves, food, all stuff she could afford to lose. Except for one thing.

 _The ploughing lamp. Geralt's lamp._  While Triss didn't really care about getting the lamp to Philippa, she knew that the lamp was more than that. Or was it?

Triss looked up to Damien, his golden cat eyes flashing in worry and urgency, pleading with her to cut away the satchel so he could lift her up safely.  _Maybe it's finally time. Time I moved on._  With that, she drew her knife with her one free hand and cut off the satchel. As Damien lifted her up, she saw it fall out of the underbrush and fall endlessly into the valley. Damien brought her back onto the ledge, panting but happy. "You're okay, right Triss?" He asked, his hands on his knees, clearly tired from everything that had just happened in the last few minutes.

Triss looked back at him, flashing a strong smile. "Never been better, witcher."

Damien had a look of confusion about him as she walked back into the room with a sprite in her step.  _Women_ , he shrugged. He pulled out a bottle of Tawny Owl, drank it, and tossed the empty bottle over the ledge as he headed back into the room. He decided to take the Crone head and the wolf medallion, as he had plans for both.

When Damien walked back into the room, he found the mages attempting to disenchant the wall directly behind the cauldron. He had no idea what they were doing, but decided to let them go about their business. A few short seconds later, the wall disappeared to reveal a gaunt man dressed in professional garb, albeit torn up and damaged.

"Your suspicions were right Triss. The Crone did not kill the ambassador." Fendar stated, impressed.

She beamed at Fendar's approval, and proceeded to wake up the passed out ambassador.

"Uhhh….Who are you!?" The ambassador said, and he retreated into a corner in his little wall cell.

"Don't worry, we are-" Triss was surprised by his reaction, and was hoping to explain herself when Damien interrupted her.

"Here to rescue you, Ambassador Sheitkof. Surely you remember me, we met at your summer estate last year?" Damien had brought himself directly next to Triss, and offered the ambassador his hand. The ambassador's face quickly went from fear to welcome, as he recognized Damien.

"My oh my, Damien! It's good to see you. Glad to see you finally moved on from Olivia too." He winked and nudged Damien, implying something between Triss and Damien that only made the two blush.

"Oh no ambassador, it's not what you think-" Triss said, blushing hard and trying to explain herself.

"Miss Merigold here just wanted to help her king protect his entrusted." Damien said, matter-of-factly, smiling at Triss. His explanation made Triss sound good, so she decided to stop talking before she said anything contradictory. As they moved the ambassador into the room, she mouthed a  _thank you_  to Damien, who only winked back to her.

As they walked back into the room, Fendar and the other mages finished talking. "We were just discussing how to get back. The guards will have probably headed back by now, so it follows that we should just teleport back to Berniken. Make sense to everyone?" All nodded, and the mages opened a large portal, big enough for all to fit through.

The group all headed back. As Damien walked through, he saw the ambassador kissing the ground in front of him. "I thought I would never live to see the dirt again!" He fell into a fit of tears, sobbing as he grabbed at the dirt around him. The guards and villagers just looked at him in surprise. Damien walked into the town, with two trophies, one in either hand, and a medallion wrapped around his wrist. The commander walked towards them as they all came through and the portal closed.

"You lot made it! We were beginning to worry none of you would make it out! And you must be the witcher, correct?" The commander extended a hand, which Damien gladly grasped.

"Damien of Oxenfurt, witcher charged with clearing the mines, which I did, with the help of these mages of yours. Without them, I probably would have died in some cave inlet."

"Don't sell yourself short. We couldn't have managed without you Damien." Fendar said proudly, patting him strongly on the shoulder.

"I certainly couldn't have." Triss said, her hands on her hips, smiling at Damien. The witcher simply smiled back, and looked around, finding the village elderman, who had rushed towards them. "A crone had been possessing and summoning monsters. She was responsible for all the trouble. But don't worry about her, this is all that's left." Damien said, holding up the crone's head. "Oh, and here's the head of the fiend that hit the town as well." Tossing the fiend head on the ground, Damien looked up.

"And the miners? They all dead?" The elderman asked.

Damien's face went dark. "Not all. Some of them were possessed by the witch. We broke the curse, though. Your guards are bringing them back separately. They should be here shortly. With that, they heard the sound of footsteps, and saw the two guards escorting the three miners. "They have their own problems, but you can sort those out tomorrow. For now, keep them under a tight watch." Damien noticed the sun was about to set. "You mind if we stay the night?"

"Of course not! You lot have saved us all. You can stay here whenever you wish." With that, the group took up their sacks and went to rest shortly after eating a nice and stuffy supper.

Afterwards, Triss looked around for Damien, as she couldn't find him in his bed. She looked around and saw him sitting atop a cliff edge, his legs dangling off, drinking beer as the sunset.

"You should be more careful you know. Someone could push you off." Triss said, in a mocking tone, as she herself sat on the edge next to him. She had brought her glass of Erveluce, and drank alongside him.

"Nothing can sneak up on me. I'm a witcher-"

"You'd have heard it coming, I know, I know." Triss smiled, as she saw she had interrupted Damien's train of thought.

"Talk to a lot of witchers?" Damien turned to her, gauging her reaction to his question.

She paused, maintaining a poker face. "You could say that. How about you? Talk to a lot of sorceresses?"

"You could say that." With that he smiled, and looked back out to the beautiful horizon.

Triss thought for a moment, took a long swig of her drink, and asked, "So, mind telling me who Olivia is?"

Damien's face went from happy, to sad, to placate. "She was my lover for a few years. A mage in service to Kaedwen. She died during Radovid's witch hunts; when he took Ard Carraigh in the last war, he burned her and a hundred others in a victory parade. I didn't find out for months. I had told her to flee Kaedwen when I had heard Radovid invaded, but there was nothing I could do. It was winter, I didn't want to risk riding out to Kaedwen myself. In hindsight, I should have realized that something had happened when I never got a response to my letters. Until one day witch hunters tracked me down in Blaviken and tried to kill me for offering to protect a mage. Sheitkof's right though; I was sullen about it for a while. Losing a lover's rough." With that, he took a large swig of his drink. Triss had no words; no quips, no humor.

"So tell me, Triss, how's Geralt?" She snapped her head directly at Damien, eliciting a laugh from him.

"Don't be surprised. He's Geralt of fucking Rivia. Everyone's heard of him, especially other witchers. And like I said, I knew who you were when you were still Foltest's advisor. Geralt was present when I came to court." Damien chuckled to himself.

"Geralt…is doing fine. He helped me evacuate the mages from Novigrad. I'll always be gracious for that. And of course, he helped prevent the end times and such." She waved her hand, hoping to evade the rest of the question.

"Come on, we all know what happened with the Wild Hunt. I mean what happened to the Butcher of Blaviken after? I haven't heard of any great exploits of late."

"He and Yennefer have retired to a life of luxury, traveling the world." Triss stated, realizing she didn't feel as much malice in her voice as she may have had before.

"Interesting. Geralt of Rivia, retired. Well, I'm sorry to see that it didn't work out."

"It's as you said, Damien. Losing a lover can be rough. But it doesn't have to stay rough, does it?" She asked innocently, putting a hand between them.

Damien's eyes fell onto hers, and he smiled again. "No Triss, it doesn't. After all, isn't it the process of moving on that makes us human?" With that, he took her hand, and pulled her closer. She responded by blushing, and put her other hand on his shoulder.

"I suppose it does."

From afar, Beata put down the telescope. "Pay up girl." She said, as she turned to Emily, who picked up the telescope, and looked to see Damien and Triss kissing passionately as the sun finally set around them. Her face went sullen, realizing she had lost the bet.

Emily handed her the twenty crowns. "How could you know that they would fall for each other?" She wished to learn from Beata's great wisdom in the affairs of love.

"Let's just say I've heard a very interesting theory about witchers and sorceresses…"

_End of Chapter Five_


	6. Running into DRM

_Author's Note: So we've entered the second part of the story of Triss after TW3. I have a lot of plans for what will happen to Triss and Damien, so stay tuned! Feedback is always appreciated. As well, I'm not sure if all of you have noticed, but I make references to choices I made in game, quests in game, and other events in the game. I try to do the best job I can with showing how game mechanics would work (stuff like the character enhancements to abilities, decoctions and how they affect fight strategies, etc). There's also a lot of pop culture references and literary allusions (feel like it's only appropriate, considering how many there are in the Witcher games). So far, there's already been a Monty Python, a Game of Thrones, a King Lear, a Catch-22, and an indirect Skyrim reference. Look out for more!_

Chapter Six: Running into DRM

_Spring 1274, three weeks later_

_Pont Vanis, Kingdom of Kovir and Poviss_

_Praxeda Inn_

"A glass of wine and a mug of Kaedwenian stout, thank you." The witcher said to the innkeep, passing over the coin. A moment later, he took the two drinks and headed back up the stairs to the table his companion was sitting at. She was brushing her blonde hair, looking into her mirror as she did so quite intensely. She smiled when she saw the two swords peek up the stairs, and put away the mirror when the witcher sat down.

"Here you are, my lady." He said, the sarcasm thick in his voice. She smiled at him.

"Why thank you dear. I wasn't expecting you to be so kind." She appreciated the edge in his voice. It gave her strength to know that she could intimidate and invigorate such a man.

"So, you think we'll find him?" He looked around, watching those who entered and exited carefully.

"Patience, love. He'll show, I'm certain of it. What did the locals say?"

"They said they'd seen him before, but that he doesn't always show on days like today." That confused her.

"What's so special about today?"

"That's what I wanted to know. Nothing as far as I can tell." They both silently drank, when suddenly the man looked up.

"I think that's him."

"You sure?"

"Most people don't carry around two blades on their back, or wear medallions, so yeah, I'm pretty sure."

"Lambert, you don't have to be a prick about it." Keira replied, smiling.

"I thought you liked when I'm a prick. Or is it just that you like my prick…can never understand women." Lambert laid back in his seat as Keira chuckled to herself, watching attentively as the witcher came into the center of the inn, talked to someone, looked around, and then left.

"Damn, he's leaving already. We should go." With that they both left their spots and headed down.

"Shit, where did he go?" Keira asked, as she looked around. The streets were busy, as the sun was setting. She'd lost track of where exactly the witcher had gone, until she saw Lambert marching along, most likely following his scent. She decided to let the witcher do the tracking, and just followed as they walked down some streets into an empty alley. The place was a dead end.

"Shit. He left somehow. Didn't climb the walls or anything. Sense anything?" Lambert turned to Keira, who was looking intensely at the spot near the wall.

"I sense something. He used some sort of teleportation runestone. Must have been in a hurry."

"Or, might have realized he was being watched." Lambert stared intensely at Keira, who got defensive.

"Look, you were the one who said going directly to Triss wouldn't be the best idea! The next best thing is to find someone close to her, and everyone said they had seen the two around a lot. So pardon me for simply listening to your advice." She huffed. "Anyways, I believe I can track where the stone teleported to." She focused carefully and began casting a spell. Shortly afterwards, she said, "Somewhere near the coast of Pont Vanis. Some rocks by the beach, from what I see. Ready?"

Lambert shocked his head. "No, but I don't really have a choice do I?"

"No." Keira smiled, and opened a portal. The two walked inside and appeared on the beach. Lambert felt like was going to throw up. "I fucking hate portals."

"You also hate penny pinchers and foglets, but sometimes we must do that which we dislike in the name of something more important." She closed the portal and looked around. "Do you sense what I sense?"

"An illusion?"

"Yes, and a quite powerful one too. Something a powerful sorceress might have cast."

"Guessing the Eye won't work on it?"

Keira laughed. "Lambert honey, don't worry about it. I'll handle the illusion." She casted a spell that after a few seconds of concentration dispelled the illusion. The rocks dissipated to show a tower by the beach, and a large sealed entrance.

"Fuck me. She hid a tower?" Lambert looked at the tower with incredulity.

"It appears so. Very well." With that the two approached the entrance, and Keira set about opening the entrance. It opened quite quickly to her surprise. "Maybe she expected no one would dispel the illusion?"

"Or," Lambert said cautiously, drawing his silver blade, "it's a trap."

Lambert was right. As they walked through the entrance, the door shut behind them. The room began to fill with smoke, making it difficult to see, and two large golems appeared.

 _"Intruders detected inside the chamber. Initiating Preliminary Defense Protocol."_ Came a disembodied voice.

"Goddamnit!" Keira screamed. "Lambert, to me!" He rolled right next to her, and she threw up a large shield, protecting them from the toxic smoke.

 _"Attempt to circumvent the Defensive Regulatory Magicon detected. Initiating Secondary Magical Suppression System."_ The disembodied voice rang out again, and arrows started to pelt the shield. Although they looked like normal arrows to Lambert, they were actually dimeritium tipped arrows, and they were sapping at Keira's strength fast. The shield started to shrink and falter, and Lambert was convinced they were going to die.

 _"Manual override initiated by authorized user. Manual override sustained by Magicon controller. Shutting down Preliminary Defense Protocol. Shutting down Secondary Magical Suppression System."_  With that, the golems turned back and headed back to their posts, and the smoke began to clear. The arrow fire stopped, and Keira and Lambert could take a sigh of relief.

When the smoke had cleared completely, they looked up to see someone waiting for them on the ledge overlooking the room. He was resting on the railing, and grinning quite strongly. He was also not wearing a shirt.

"My deepest apologies Miss Metz and Lambert! I must say, we weren't really expecting guests right now."

"We?" Keira asked, her hands on her hips.

"All will be explained shortly. Please, it would be rude of me to not welcome you properly." With that, he headed through the door, which closed behind him, and soon the door in front of them opened. They followed it through a small pathway to a foyer where they found Damien waiting for them, putting on a linen shirt.

"Truly I apologize for what just happened. It's the tower's defensive system. It's currently only set to allow Triss and I through. Like I said, we haven't been expecting guests."

"Speaking of her, where is Triss?" Keira asked, looking around.

"She's…getting dressed... like I've said, we were not expecting guests…" Damien blushed, looking away, an arm behind his head. Keira blushed as well, but Lambert just started laughing. Shortly afterwards, they heard footsteps coming down the stairwell across from them. Triss had wrapped herself in a robe, and was clearly annoyed at being disturbed.

"Good evening Keira. Lambert. I was not aware either of us had extended you two an invitation." She did not even look at Lambert, and was looking quite sternly at Keira.  _This better have been worth it, Keira._

"Darling, why don't you show them to the living room? I'll get us some drinks." Damien was clearly not in the mood for an argument, and was trying to be the good host. Triss nodded and began moving quite briskly into the living room, relighting the fireplace she had put out only a few minutes ago.

Triss took a seat directly next to the fireplace, opposite to Keira and Lambert, with Keira directly in front of her.

"So, what brings you two into our hideout?" Triss asked, bluntly. She was not even remotely afraid to be straightforward.

"Triss my darling, I haven't seen you since Kaer Morhen! I-"

"What. Brings. You. Here." Triss' voice was steel, her teeth gritting as she said the words. Her abruptness threw Keira off and made Lambert chuckle to himself. Triss glared daggers at him, shutting him up instantly.

"We needed some help, is all, and we thought who better to help us out then the most powerful sorceress we know, who just happens to be a few days ride away?" Keira was hoping to placate Triss with a half-truth, and looked to Lambert for help. But before he could pipe up in support, Triss immediately responded.

"And you didn't think it suited to come visit me in court, as Keira Metz, former court advisor to King Foltest of Temeria would have known?"

"Well, we weren't sure if you would want to see us, and-"

"So you thought it suited to stalk my lover through the streets of Pont Vanis for three days?" Keira was surprised at Triss' accusation. With that, Damien entered the room, handing Triss and Keira a glass of Toussaint Red, and giving Lambert and himself a mug of Redanian lager. Lambert gave Damien a weak smile, and Damien smiled back, and took a seat.

"Oh, you thought he wouldn't notice? He told me every day for the last few days he felt like he was being watched, like his footsteps were being traced. Did you know today is his last day in Pont Vanis? He's headed to Poviss on business tomorrow morning. Do you know how worried I felt, knowing he's leaving when someone's been stalking him?" Triss chugged the whole glass, put it down, and got up. "And then you have the gall to follow him to our secret personal hideout, interrupt us the night before he leaves, and you dare ask me for help?" She put her hands on her hips, staring right into Keira's eyes, her eyes blazing.

"Darling, sit down, let her explain herself." Damien got up and pulled Triss back into her seat. Triss was still angry, but relented and sat back down. The blood had drained from Lambert's face, and Keira was silent.

"You're right. I'm not being completely honest with you. We made a mistake; we thought it best to avoid direct contact, so our goal was to ask Damien if it would be wise to visit you, and if so, when. We didn't know he was leaving though, which explains why it was so hard to follow him around." Keira looked down, ashamed.

"Triss, Keira and I were just worried what would happen if we showed ourselves in court. We're being chased by a Hengfors mercenary company; making ourselves known would risk unnecessary attention to everyone." Lambert showed quite a lot of maturity. It appeared the last year and a half with Keira had helped him become a bit more sociable.

Triss realized they had their reasons for being sneaky, but was still astonished they had barged into their personal home. "You still didn't feel like you had to knock when you find someone else's home, Lambert?" Lambert and Keira looked at each other with quizzical stares, which caused Triss to shake her head in surrender. There was no hope teaching either of them the simple manner of knocking before barging in.

"Very well. Let's say I believe your point about the mercenary company, which, considering it came from Lambert I hardly do. What do you expect me to do about that? I'm not the ambassador to the League." Lambert looked at Triss with disgust as she finished her sentence.

"Nice to see there's no bad blood between us, Merigold." Triss just smiled with her eyes closed to that.

"We need you to help us flee the area. All the ships in the local area that are departing belong to one company or the other, all-"

"Except for the one that is chartered to the Kingdom's Corps of Mages." Triss understood what Keira was getting at. "You are aware where that boat is going right?" The two shook their heads no.

"Poviss." Damien responded. The duo turned to look at the witcher, and Triss smiled, looking at him. "I'm leading an expedition to search some old elven ruins in the west. Serves as a training exercise for some new mage recruits and an interesting intellectual discovery. You could come with, ostensibly to help out, and take a different boat from Tridam Harbor."

"Very well. You can go along with Damien to Poviss, and then make your way to somewhere south from there. You'll be out of the reach of the League out there." Triss felt, to some degree, satisfied. The issue had been resolved. "Keira, if you wouldn't mind, would you come with me upstairs? I wish to speak with you about something." With that, Triss kissed Damien on the cheek, got up, and waited as Keira did the same to Lambert and followed.

Lambert looked to Damien, who was finishing up his drink. They both felt incredibly awkward in that moment, not really sure what to talk about. Lambert looked around, and saw the large leshen trophy on the mantle.

"Impressive trophy." He noted. Damien nodded. If there was one thing that could tie witchers together, it was the love of rare trophies.

"Yep. Interesting one, that. Much younger than most are. Was awoken by a Crone who fled into a local mineshaft and began summoning monsters. It put up a strong fight, but I got it in the end. It was around the same time I met Triss, actually."

"Speaking of which, how did you guys meet?" Lambert asked, curious to know.

"She was sent on an expedition to help clear out the mineshaft, something I had already agreed to do but had been unable to complete. She saved my life; without her, I would have died in some cave in the middle of the mountains. And then, we just hit it off afterwards. When it was all said and done, Triss asked me to stay with her in Kovir. I decided I could do some work for the king as well; not really the domain of witchers, but I can manage. We bought this tower from one of the mages, and it became our retreat when we had both had a long day." Damien looked happy, reflecting on the recent past. "So tell me Lambert, how did you meet Keira?"

Lambert scoffed. "She fled to Kaer Morhen from Velen at Geralt's request. Helped us defend the keep from the Wild Hunt. She saved my life then as well. Afterwards, she told me she had plans and wanted my help to fulfill it. Who was I to refuse a beautiful sorceress who found me attractive?" He snickered, and Damien chuckled in response.

"I suppose thus is our lot in life. To be seduced and controlled by sorceresses." Damien said, his voice away and his head facing the ceiling.

Lambert started laughing in earnest. "There are worse lots in life."

"Indeed mate."

Keira followed Triss as she circled up the stair way and exited on the third floor. The door opened to a sprawling bedroom, with multiple tables, chests, shelves, several weapon racks, and a bed that was unmade. Triss took a seat on the end of the bed, and Keira laid on the wall directly in front of her, next to a large disk.

"Teleprojection disk? What for?" Keira asked, pointing at the disk.

"It projects whoever it is that enters from the main door. Extra security measure, so to speak. We have to tweak it obviously; it currently doesn't let us override the system unless we go down a floor to the control chamber. Granted, we've only had it for a few weeks," Triss glanced at Keira with emphasis, "and we haven't been expecting any guests."

Keira blushed again. "I truly am sorry Triss. We didn't realize…"

"Whatever. So, there's a few things I wanted to talk to you about. The first is, of course, how Lambert has been." Triss gave a motion of obviousness at the question.

"He's not as bad as you may think Triss, once you get to know him. He puts up a front of angst and annoyance but he's actually very loyal and very sweet underneath it all. And he's helped me with my research greatly."

"How goes the research?" Triss knew Keira was embarking to find a cure for the Catriona plague, but was not sure how it was going.

"It's had some issues. We've gotten some leads, some new ideas, but it had to come to a halt recently when I angered a mercenary company leader. Apparently he's one of the few remaining who still believes in the Church of the Eternal Fire this far North, and when he heard a lodge sorceress was doing witch business, he tried to kill me and Lambert. We've been on the run ever since."

"It's rough out there. If you need protection, you can always turn to the Corps of Mages-"

"I appreciate the offer, but like I said back at Kaer Morhen, I have my own plans."

Triss acknowledged Keira's point with a knowing nod. "So that brings me to the last question. Why did you give Geralt a magic lamp?"

Keira was surprised by the question. "The one that allows the user to communicate with ghosts? I needed him to help deal with a wraith infestation on a local island."

"Why would he need a lamp to do that? He's a witcher, he knows how to deal with wraiths."

Keira looked away, and sighed. "Well…I was also hoping he could tell me what Alexander had accomplished in his research. He had been researching the plague on the island that was infested with wraiths, and I felt I could use the research to better the world. So I got Geralt to clear the island for me so I could find the research."

Triss knew where this was leading. "I'm guessing Geralt wouldn't just let you do that…"

"No, he wouldn't and he didn't." She looked down. "Look Triss I know-"

"You seduced him didn't you?"

"…Yes. I did. Then I put him to sleep so I could raid the laboratory. I know it was wrong, I get-"

"Don't worry Keira. Your secret is safe with me. Geralt and I are done. I just wanted to know."  _I'm a better person then you bitch. I know not to manipulate people like that._  "I got the lamp from Geralt. Philippa needed something of the kind. It was destroyed when Damien and I were fighting the crone, though. Sorry about that." Triss had heard from Dandelion that Keira may or may not have slept with Geralt when he was in Velen. She hadn't been certain about the details, let alone if it had happened completely on Geralt's accord. She was happy to know that Keira had to resort to methods Triss would never use to get a man to sleep with her.  _Well, never again. Look, it doesn't matter okay? It's not about you, it's about her._

"It's fine. The lamp was a gift from Avall'ach, for helping him after he fled the Hunt. I'm surprised Geralt even bothered keeping the damn thing. It wasn't that useful in the end."

"If Alexander's notes let you cure Catriona, I'd say it was definitely useful."

"All in due course, Triss. All in due course." With that, Keira moved towards the exit. "Lambert and I should get going. It's probably already dark out and we wouldn't want to miss the ship tomorrow. Thank you again Triss. For everything. And my apologies, again, for everything."

"It's alright Keira. I understand." She walked Keira down to the living room, where she found Lambert and Damien struggling in an arm wrestling match.

"C'mon pretty boy, give up." Lambert mocked, his arm slowly gaining on Damien's.

"Not on your life, seawater." With that, Damien edged ahead, putting himself in the lead. They both gave it their all, and Damien slammed Lambert's hand into the table.

"Damn, you're good. Here you go." With that, Lambert tossed him a gwent card. Triss tried to look at it, but couldn't make it out.

"Lambert, love, it's time we left. We've kept these two busy for quite some time now." Lambert glanced at her, smiling, and got up. He gave Damien a strong handshake, and said, "See you tomorrow."

"You as well." Damien replied. The two walked back through the door and left the hideout. As the door shut, Triss walked up to Damien, resting her chin on his shoulder.

"What were you two playing for?" She asked, curious as to what he would challenge Lambert to an arm wrestling match over.

"We were talking about gwent, which he apparently plays a lot of. We talked about some rare cards we had, and he told me of one card that he had that I had been trying to get for a few weeks now. When I knew he had it, it was on my honor to challenge him for it." He said, and as he did so, picked Triss up into his arms and carried her into the bedroom.

As he laid her down, she got up on her knees, her eyes looking directly into Damien's, her arms around his neck. "What was the card?" She asked, innocently. He smiled back to her, and pulled the card out of his shirt pocket. He turned it to her, and she looked down to it.

It was her. He had won  _her_  gwent card. That was the card he had been searching for weeks; he wanted her in his deck just like he had her in his life. A massive smile appeared on her face, and she pulled him down and flipped them both so he was underneath her. Damien put the card on the table next to them, and lifted himself up to kiss his lover like he had been meaning to do for over an hour.

Later that night, two sailors, far too drunk for their own good, were wandering around on the beach. And while they didn't see anything, they could have sworn they heard something near the rocks, and it sounded a lot like cries of passion.

_End of Chapter Six_


	7. How to Deal with Colossal Pricks

Chapter Seven: How to Deal with Colossal Pricks

_Spring 1274, the next day_

_Pont Vanis, Kingdom of Kovir and Poviss_

_Pont Vanis Harbor_

It was still morning when Keira and Lambert arrived in front of the  _Merlin_ , the galleon that belonged to the Koviri Corp's of Mages. Two large banners flew on the docks next to the boat; one the crest of Kovir, and the other the symbol of the Corps, a black owl on a blue banner. There were a few guards standing outside the entrance, and more in the vicinity of the boat. However, much to Keira and Lambert's relief, Damien was waiting directly in front of the boat, helping to check in mages as they arrived onto the ship.

The duo made their way to the entrance, waiting behind a young boy, shorter than both of them, with pale white skin and black hair, similar to Damien's. Damien smiled in approval when he saw the boy, and let him on board immediately. "It's good to see you Albert!" He yelled as the boy boarded.

Damien turned to face Keira and Lambert, and smiled again. "Glad to see you guys could make it! Come with me. Captain, you can finish up the check in by yourself, right? There's only a few people left."

"Of course…but master witcher, who are these two? They-"

"Are with me. Last minute additions, don't worry about it. They have other business that needs to be taken care of." The captain accepted Damien's excuse, and returned to his position checking in mages. The trio walked up onto the boat, and followed Damien to the upper deck, where he rested on a railing overlooking the rest of the bay.

Keira decided to head below deck to get some food, and in the meanwhile, Lambert took a spot on the railing right next to Damien.

"So, what is it that you even do for the Corps?" Lambert was curious as to what a witcher could do for the mages that they didn't already need.

"Training: Monster hunting skills, standard tracking knowledge, self-defense, how to protect yourself if you're binded with dimeritium. I've also started teaching a few of them of some sword fighting techniques, as they wanted to learn."

"So you're off the Path?"

"No, not really. For now, I'll do some work with the mages. I'll do contracts and help out as needed. In many ways I'll be better at it; the king can provide me with the resources needed to get to towns when they're in danger, rather than just wander around until danger strikes."

Lambert nodded knowingly. "Seeing as I know Geralt, and now know you, I must ask. What's so alluring about Triss Merigold?" Damien starting laughing at the question.

"I know you two don't get along Lambert, but that doesn't mean everyone else won't as well. She's intelligent, brave, caring, compassionate, thoughtful, and of course, in my mind, gorgeous. I couldn't be happier to know that she sees a lot of those traits in me." With that, the captain announced that the ship was leaving the docks, and shortly afterwards, they departed into the bay.

"She tell you to go to Poviss?"

Damien was surprised at the question. "No, I was offered to assist by one of the mages on this expedition. Are you trying to imply something Lambert?"

"All I'm saying is that the Triss Merigold I know used Geralt as a tool to further herself. And lied to him about their past so he would sleep with her."

"Indeed she did, because she was, at the time, emotionally unstable and needed someone to latch onto. I'm also certain that being good friends with Yennefer only made her want Geralt more, as he was something she couldn't have. While it doesn't excuse her actions, I have reason to believe she's changed since then, and grown as a person. If Geralt and Yen can accept her, I can as well."

"She's that good?"

Damien looked at Lambert, raising an eyebrow quizzically.

"In the sack? That good that-" But before Lambert could finish his sentence he fell over as Damien blasted him in the chest with Aard. "Shut the fuck up Lambert."

"What's going on here?' Keira asked, as she came up the stairs, carrying a plate of assorted meats and vegetables. "You boys aren't getting rowdy, are you?"

"No, uhm,-"

"Lambert here was saying that he had the better arrangement of the two of us with his lover. Naturally, I had to say otherwise on my honor. I felt it only fair to show Lambert I would not accept an insult to my lady." Damien successfully navigated the situation; although Keira did not believe Damien completely, she was satisfied with an explanation that made everyone involved look better. In a move to solidify his point, Damien reached out a hand to lift Lambert up, which he took gladly, smirking as he did so.

"Up for a round of gwent, Damien?"

"Of course. Loser gets the winner lunch." Lambert nodded, the two sat down at the table, and took out their cards to begin playing, while Keira watched them.

"So tell me Keira, how did you find out about my relationship with Triss?" Damien asked, as Lambert used the Scoia'tael perk to go first.

"We heard a bard singing a song praising you and Triss for saving Talgar from the Crone the first night we were here. Since our scouting showed that there were Hengfors representatives in the court, we knew it would be unwise to see Triss in court. We decided to ask around about you, hoping you could at least tell us something useful about her. Then we found out you two were spotted together all over the city, and we realized there was something else going on as well."

As she finished, Damien passed on his turn, surrendering the round to Lambert, 29-11. Damien still had ten cards, however, compared to Lambert's eight. They began the second round as Damien responded.

"How did you find the hideout? I was pretty good about stealth yesterday; I knew if there was time to make a move, it would be yesterday."

"Well, we didn't know you were on the voyage. We tried to find out who was, but no one knew."

"I kept it that way. For safety. The mages can get quite competitive, especially the new recruits. The list of people going was kept very secret to prevent sabotage from other members who got jealous."

With that, Damien played Yennefer's card, resurrecting a Blue Stripes Commando, making a trio on the board. That successful play put him ahead of Lambert, 44-31. Damien had won the round, and with the Northern Realms ability, drew an additional card, which put him at seven cards to Lambert's five. However, he had been forced to use Foltest's ability to clear Biting Frost to win the round.

"So we tried to follow you around, but the only place we could definitively place you was the Praxeda Inn. So we staked it out ahead of time yesterday, as we heard you play gwent and participate in fist fights there. We followed your tracks afterwards, and I traced where the stone teleported you to, as it had happened only minutes earlier. "

"Smart. On most days I do spend time there, but not on days like yesterday."

"What's so special about yesterday?"

"Weekly hunting excursion of the king. He ends court early, doesn't return till the next night." Damien saw Keira understood what that implied, but it was clear Lambert didn't.

"So what? You're not a courtier, Triss…" And with that, Lambert understood as well, showing realization on his face.

"Exactly. Lambert, mate, you're down to your last card. I hope you make it count." Damien smiled, as he was currently winning. He had Roche in close combat, two dragon hunters buffed with a commander's horn in ranged combat, and a catapult and dun banner medic in siege combat, putting him at a cozy 63 points. Lambert had Isengrim, Ciri, and Toruviel in close combat, and Iorveth and a healer in ranged combat, putting him at 37 points. However, he smirked as he played his final card; Impenetrable Fog.

Doing so had cut Damien's score, built on his 40 point ranged row, by over half; the row was reduced to eight points, bringing his score down to 31. He was now six points behind Lambert, and could not clear the fog unless his one card was clear weather, a card he never kept because of Foltest's ability, which he had already used.

Damien looked up to Lambert, who was grinning strongly. "So, first I'm going to need some venison, I haven't had it in ages-" Lambert was convinced he had won, causing Damien to smile as he played his final card.

Triss Merigold, worth seven points. With that, he was now at 38 to Lambert's 37. Lambert paused, getting quiet. Keira was surprised to suddenly hear him go quiet, and looked up from her plate to see that Damien had won the round, and with that, the match.

"Well played." Lambert stated, snickering to himself about the coincidence that Damien would win the match with his lover's card. "Anything in particular you want?" He said, as he cleared his cards and packed them away.

Damien looked to Lambert, his smile wicked. "Indeed. Venison. I haven't had it in ages." Keira began laughing uncontrollably at his remark, and Lambert shook his head and headed off.

"So what do you intend to do at this elven ruin?" Keira asked, intrigued at what a witcher wanted with a ruin.

"See what sorts of enchantments protect it, find any valuable treasures and protect them from falling into the wrong hands. Discover more about the role Poviss played to the elves. Standard research."

"I'm guessing it's more lucrative then standard witcher contracts."

"I'm offended, Keira," Damien feigned shock, "that you would imply a witcher would only do such things for the gold. But yes, it does pay well, as do most contracts in Kovir. But honestly, I would like to learn some more about magic. The Griffin school puts more emphasis on that then any other witcher school I've ever met."

Keira scoffed. "You don't know the half of it. I'm lucky if Lambert can tell the difference between teleprojection and macrocubic symphonic resonance." When she saw the blank stare Damien was giving her, she decided to drop the subject.

They waited in satisfied silence, relaxing under the perfect Northern sun. Lambert came up with plates of food, which they all ate, happily and merrily.

"Damien, do you mind me asking, how do you stay so relaxed and positive?" Kiera asked, as they finished their meals and looked out to the beautiful Koviri mountains that they were rounding.

"I don't mind. I understand, most witchers are much more negative than I am." He glanced at Lambert, who shook his head. "I get angry and annoyed too, but I suppose I was taught how to control it well by my mentor."

"Who was your mentor?" Lambert asked.

"George the Dragonslayer." Although the name sounded somewhat familiar to Keira, it made Lambert drop his jaw.

"Yes, that George. He was always a very temperate and calm man, and he taught me how to control myself around villagers, how to gain their trust. Well, as much as you can with villagers." Damien and Lambert gave each other knowing looks.

"I've also been very lucky. I gained a great name for myself when I was still very young. It's only really known out in the northern most regions, but just saying it in many places out here elicits respect."

"Ah yes, the Silver Blade of Hengfors." Lambert said mockingly.

"Mock it all you want, Lambert, but it has saved my skin more times than I can count."

"Sounds better then Butcher of Blaviken at any rate."

"Indeed it does; I may not be immortalized in Bard Dandelion's tales, but I have my fair share of renown, and no negative name for dumb shites to call me."

Damien paused, before continuing, "That reminds me Lambert, what was the name of your mentor at Kaer Morhen?"

Lambert looked surprised. "Vesemir, why? If you're looking to meet him, it's too late, he-"

"I know what happened to him. I just wanted to confirm." Lambert looked at him, confused, but decided to ignore the statement.

"If you want to go see his tomb, Ciri made him a monument at Kaer Morhen. If it's any interest to you."

"It is Lambert, it is."

**Later that day…**

As the boat docked at Tridam Harbor, all of the crew got off the boat and congregated near the inn. Damien got off with Keira and Lambert, and said his farewells to them as they headed down to see some of the ships headed south.

"Anywhere in particular, you guys planning to go?"

Keira replied first before Lambert could even open his mouth. "Cintra. We have some promising leads there."

"Well, I hope you the best. Fair winds guide you both, and Lambert, good luck on the Path." With that, the witchers gave each other strong handshakes.

"You as well. And visit Kaer Morhen if you get the chance." Lambert reminded him, as they walked off.

"Don't worry, I will." Damien waved goodbye to the duo and walked up from the docks into the actual town. He saw Albert waiting for him at the entrance gate to the town.

"Master Damien, the mages are all accounted for."

"Good, we leave in a few moments. Tell them to have something to drink and or relieve themselves in the woods now. We congregate at the other end of the town."

"Absolutely master witcher." Albert started walking off, then paused and turned back. "Master Damien, can I ask you a question?"

"Already doing that." He smirked.

"Who were those two on the boat with us? Are they coming with? I wasn't aware anyone else was coming on the expedition, is all."

Damien laughed, and patted Albert on the shoulder. "No son, it's nothing like that. They're friends, is all. I was just helping them out. They aren't coming with."

"Oh, well, I was only wondering because you hadn't mentioned anything…"

"Yes." Damien looked out to the harbor, and saw the almost dozen boats in the harbor. The sun was approaching sunset, and from his vantage point, it made the harbor sparkle a million different colors. "That's what happens when you aren't expecting guests."

_End of Chapter Seven_


	8. Doublets, Dresses, and Dancing

Chapter Eight: Doublets, Dresses, and Dancing

_Spring 1274, a week later_

_North of Lan Exeter, Kingdom of Kovir and Poviss_

_Sybrius Residence_

Triss was getting nervous, pacing back and forth on the balcony of the Sybrius mansion. Edgar Sybrius was a wealthy nobleman, whose family owned one of the largest diamond mines in Narok. He owned a massive mansion outside of the winter capital, and was hosting a party celebrating his 25th anniversary with his wife. Everyone who was anyone in Kovir was invited, and fortunately for Triss, that included well known members of the royal court. However, she was worried Damien wouldn't be able to make it; he had only arrived back in Pont Vanis the day before, and Lan Exeter was a full day's ride from there. She knew there was nothing to worry about; Damien was a smart and resourceful man. Nothing would happen to him. Nothing.

Right?

 _Everyone else is here._  Triss was getting anxious as the minutes grew and grew, but Damien was nowhere in sight. She walked down to the main garden area where everyone was mingling before dinner would be served.

"Miss Merigold!" Triss was pulled out of her own world of worries by the call of someone by the fountain. She turned to see Ambassador Sheitkof.

"It's good to see you darling!" Sheitkof was very obviously intoxicated, as his breath gave away. He gave her a very large hug, which only made Triss feel incredibly uncomfortable. "What happened to Damien?" He asked, looking quite concerned. "Are you two not together-?"

"No no no, Ambassador, it's nothing like that. Damien's just running late. He only returned yesterday from an expedition to Poviss." Triss explained, drawing the intrigue of some of the ambassador's circle.

"Are we talking about Damien of Oxenfurt? The Silver Blade of Hengfors?" One brunette woman to the ambassador's right said. She was wearing a red and black dress, quite different from Triss' white and blue dress. Triss nodded and smiled.

"Well by Meliteles' tits, girl, you lucked out." She turned to another woman, this one a blonde, wearing a similar dress. "Did you see him at the ambassador's party? Chest like that, I'd let him break my curse all night long." The two women starting laughing at the insinuation, which only made Triss blush and look away.

"Tell me, how good is he?" Triss looked up, surprised at the question. "You know, at-"

"I'd like to think I'm quite good at giving a lady the proper time, thank you very much." With that, Triss turned to see Damien right next to her, as he bowed to the ambassador, and took Triss' hand and kissed it. She blushed again, but was ecstatic to see him here. She got a good look at him; he had cleaned up very nicely. He smelt of oak and honey, his beard was shaved, as Triss liked it, and he had his moppy black hair in the perfect balance of disheveled and proper. He was wearing a stunning doublet that fit him perfectly, and its combination of black and blue contrasted Triss' blue and white quite nicely. All of this, the sight of him again, the conversation, the worry, mixed with a little bit of champagne made Triss pull Damien into her arms and kiss him wildly in front of everyone.

While it threw Damien off at first, he quickly responded, embracing her completely, his arms around her waist, her arms around his neck, and he pulled her up to him. She lifted up both of her legs, before letting one hit the ground and finally pulling away to see him smiling wickedly, with some of her lipstick on his lips. She smiled back, and took one of his hands into one of her own. Their fingers interlaced and they turned back to the rest of the circle.

The lady Triss had been talking with looked amazed; her jaw was dropped, her face surprised. Everyone was beaming ear to ear, most notably the ambassador.

"Damien my boy, come here!" The two men embraced each other strongly. When he separated, Triss handed him a handkerchief to wipe her lipstick off with, which he did, while suppressing a chuckle.

"What happened? You had your lover here worried sick!" Triss looked away, blushing again as the ambassador pointed to her. Damien smiled.

"It took us longer to get everyone and everything off the ship then I had originally anticipated. As a result, I was late leaving Pont Vanis, and showed up to Lan Exeter a mess as I tried to cover for lost time. It took me a while to get rid of the smell of monsters as well." With that, he had several women, including Triss, intrigued. The other women swarmed around him, bombarding him with questions. Did you fight something interesting? Did it give you this scar? Can you flex for us? In doing so, they had pushed Triss aside, angering her.

"Relax ladies, one at a time! So first…" Damien had gotten them to hush, and was enthralling them with every word that came from his mouth.

Triss took a glass of champagne from a serving boy and drank the whole thing in one shot, furious that the women were hogging her man after she hadn't seen him in a week. She turned to the ambassador, who was just chuckling to himself and shaking his head.

"Don't worry Miss Merigold. Eventually he'll get a respite and the two of you can make a break for it."

Triss nodded, realizing that it wasn't really that big of a deal. After all, Damien was one of the few well regarded witchers in the area. While it meant people respected him, it also drew him a lot of attention at events like this. Attention that could easily become annoying to others.

"You two seem happy together." The ambassador looked wistfully out to the rest of the party. "That's not very common in these sorts of circles, so you should treasure it." With that, they watched patiently as Damien struggled his way out of the ladies' entrapment and got back to Triss.

"Let's go somewhere quieter, shall we?" He smiled, and Triss nodded in agreement. They said goodbye to the ambassador and made their way into the lower garden, where there were far less people. They decided to claim a gazebo in one of the corners of the garden, and Triss sat down as Damien rested himself on one of the pillars of the gazebo.

"It's good to see you again, Damien." She couldn't stop herself from beaming ear to ear as she looked at him.

"It's good to be back."

"How did the expedition go?" She was curious; Damien didn't have any new scars, and his face communicated it went well.

"Excellent. Had some issues with mages not cooperating, but other than that, no problems. Made some interesting notes, and learned something useful that I wish to experiment with when we get home." His tone indicated it was definitely something of use.

"What was it?"

"An interesting way to control golems that I hadn't really seen before; it allows the original caster to train the golem, so to speak. I'll show you my notes when we get back-" But before Damien could finish his sentence, they heard a loud bell indicating that dinner was being served. They walked back to the main garden, and then through a wooden archway to the dining area. The food was exquisite; there were a dozen different meats, assortments of soups, pastries, three different cakes, a vast array of fruits and vegetables. The duo took a spot at the center table, reserved for the Sybrius' and the royal court. They both received glasses of the finest Toussaint Reds available (supposedly aged from the coronation of King Vizimir II of Redania).

Edgar Sybrius, and his wife Matilda took a seat at the front of the table, a few spots down from Triss and Damien. The raised a toast, and everyone sat down and began eating.

"Damien! How good it is to see you again!" Edgar said, as he took a long swig of his wine. "When was the last time we saw each other, two maybe three years ago?" The man was struggling to remember.

"Almost three, sir. Shortly before the last Northern war with Nilfgaard." Damien responded, and the patriarch nodded in agreement. He looked to the man to his right, who appeared to be a brother or cousin of some kind, and said, "That Damien boy is a true professional. Set his terms at the beginning, didn't try to weasel out, and got the job done perfectly. Plus, he gave Erik here some great swordfighting lessons!" With that, he pointed to his oldest son, who appeared around fifteen or sixteen.

"Was he the witcher who broke the curse in that warehouse in Lan Exeter?" The man next to Edgar inquired.

"Indeed indeed. Saved me a bloody fortune he did. The Swanns' wanted me to buy a different one, said it help them with their debt! Bloody Swanns." The Swann family was a large clan in Lan Exeter who had a big role in the shipping in the region, but had been going through some trouble of their own as of late. They were all socialites, and many others detested them but associated with them out of need, not want. "Damien here made sure I didn't have to have ploughing dinner with them again."

"Did you invite them here daddy?" Edgar's youngest, who was seated directly in front of Triss and Damien, asked. Edgar's face scrunched up in disgust. "The Swanns apparently had other business to take care of son." He proceeded to finish his glass and order another one.

Triss and Damien finished their meal and continued to talk to the other guests. Triss got into a very heated discussion with the Novigrad ambassador about the safety of the city, when Damien motioned for her to come with him for some fresh air.

They walked away from the table back to the gardens, and sat next to the fountain on the benches around it. Damien looked into Triss' eyes and leaned in to kiss her when he was interrupted by the noise of a glass being rung.

"The dance floor is now open!" They heard Edgar's voice ring out through the gardens, and saw as other couples that had sunk away for a moment of privacy were hurrying back to the dining area to head to the dance floor.

"We should go, they'll be expecting us." Triss said, giggling as she saw Damien pout, and grabbed him by his hand and led him back to the dining area. When they did, they saw that dozens of couples had already taken the floor.

With a good look around, Damien bent over, extending his hand, smiling, "May I have this dance?" Triss put her hand into his, and he escorted her onto the floor.

The couple, both having gone ages without waltzing, still took the challenge with gusto, and soon found their rhythm after a few missteps and awkward pauses. Soon enough, Damien had the two gliding across the floor with ease, and stepped up the difficulty with each passing moment.

They made their way into the center of the floor, with numerous important individuals surrounding them; not like they would have noticed, however, as their eyes were glued to each other. Damien stopped and twirled Triss with one hand; she smiled as she spun around, the complex patterns of her dress blurring together in a haze of blue and white. Damien stopped the spinning with her facing him, and on cue, Triss leaned over onto his waiting arm, as he held her waist. He bent down, looking directly into her eyes, hovering over her face. Triss wrapped her arms around Damien's neck, and the two reached in for a kiss.

They could have stayed in that pose forever if their passion was any indication; however, rapidly, the couples around them paused to look, and erupted in a massive array of cheers and clapping, mixed with some gasps. The attention pulled the couple out of their personal world, and they pulled apart to see everyone looking at them.

While Triss was happy, she was also surprised and stunned. She didn't know what to do in the moment, but decided to show some theatrics and bowed. Damien followed her cue, and the two returned to dancing, with Triss' arms around his neck. They danced on, and finally returned to their seats after a few more rounds of waltzing.

They were immediately bombarded with questions from other partygoers; how did you guys meet? How long have you been together? Etc. etc. It was quite overwhelming for both of them, but they made the best of it, answering questions in indirect ways that often led to more gasping or intrigue from the people around their table. This little game of theirs continue for what felt like hours until a chamberlain came to escort Triss. She was apparently needed for something, and gave Damien a kiss on the cheek before following the man.

Without Triss, Damien was successfully able to get away from the intrusive partygoers and get a moment of fresh air. He rested on a ledge overlooking the lower gardens, behind all of the dinner tables. He let his mind wander, until he heard a young person's footsteps.

He turned to find Erik Sybrius, the eldest son of Edgar Sybrius, whom Damien had tutored in sword fighting all those years ago.

"Master Damien, I was thinking…" He stammered as he took a spot next to Damien on the ledge. He came below to Damien's shoulder, his black hair long and drawn across his face.

"Always a dangerous thing." He smiled, looking to Erik, who smiled weakly in response to the joke.

"There's a girl, who I like. She's at this party. She's really pretty and smart and funny, but I am afraid to ask her to dance with me. I feel like she'll only do it because of who my father is, not because she actually wants to." With that, he turned around, looking back to the dinner tables. Damien followed his cue, and looked. In a corner on the opposite side of the room, there was a group of young girls, all around Erik's age. In the middle was a girl with hair as black as Erik's, shorter in height than the rest of the girls, and hiding behind her hair, exactly like Erik.

"Is that…"

"Sabrina Radgar. Her father is the Duke of Velhad." Damien nodded, understanding the significance that would have to someone like Master Sybrius. "You guys go to the same academy in Lan Exeter, I presume?" Damien looked to Erik, and saw him nodding. "Do you two ever talk?"

"Sometimes." He looked away, making Damien chuckle in his head. He remembered when he was this insecure and shy around others. "She likes painting and reading." Erik looked back out at over the hills. "And bunnies." With that, Damien started to giggle ever so slightly. Erik snapped his head around at him, and Damien silenced himself immediately.

"Do you think Miss Sabrina would dance with you?" To that, Erik nodded, and Damien leaned back, thinking. As he did so, he saw Triss return, and a crazy idea came into his head. He told Erik he would be right back, and went to Triss.

When she saw him, she looked relieved. "I was looking for you. We have a summons with the King in Pont Vanis two days from now, when he returns from his hunting trip." Damien nodded, and asked her to follow him. He brought her to Erik, who was pacing nervously back and forth when he returned, and explained to the two of them his crazy plan.

"So, first off, Triss, meet Erik. Erik, meet Triss." The two smiled, and Erik bowed, to which Triss curtsied. Damien looked to Triss. "Erik here is having an issue asking a girl to dance with him. I think I have the solution." Triss looked confused, but listened as he explained his crazy plan.

**A few minutes later…**

Damien walked away from the ledge, heading directly in the direction of the young girls. They were still standing approximately where they were a few minutes earlier, near a table full of different drinks. Damien came up to the table, within earshot of the girls, as he poured himself another glass of champagne.

"…damn, what I'd give to find a man like that." He heard, and turned to see the tallest, and seemingly oldest in the group say as they saw him. Another girl from the group also piped up, "Yeah, no one like that ever offers to dance with me!" Damien smiled, and walked towards them, careful not to look too closely at Sabrina; she was looking away, making quick glances towards Erik, who was back with his friends at his table.

"Did I overhear you young girls correctly? You would like to dance with someone like me?" He asked, smiling from the corner of his mouth. The girls had moved apart so they could all look at him.

"Yeah." The oldest said, indignation in her voice. "All of the boys here are too lily-livered to offer any of us to dance with them." She motioned to the table of young boys, all of whom were huddling around each other, catching glances at the girls. Erik, however, was missing from the group. With that, Damien looked back at them, and smiled.

"How about I help break the ice between all of you then. I'll take one of you out onto the floor. Maybe that will encourage more of them to come out and ask you to dance with them. How about you, darling?" With that, Damien offered his hand to Sabrina, who was not even looking at him, but looking at the floor, her long black hair covering her face. When she saw Damien's hand she blushed really strongly.

"C'mon Sabrina, have some fun!" One of the other girls said, pushing her towards Damien. She looked up to try to look at Damien's face. She came up short of his shoulder, but looked to see his face very open and welcoming. She smiled weakly, and said, "Okay." She was barely audible, but all of her friends started cheering, and she smiled much more strongly to that.

They hit the dance floor, and they looked adorable. Numerous old ladies started awwing at the sight of Damien dancing with the young girl. And while it looked all simple and innocent, it was all part of a series of calculated moves. Damien guided them over to the other side of the dance floor, where Triss and Erik were dancing. Damien and Triss locked eyes, and saw that their plan was working so far. Triss and Erik disconnected, and at that moment, Damien started the final part of his plan.

"I'm sorry, Sabrina, but I must answer the call of my lady. However, it appears there's someone else who can dance with you…" They disconnected, and Damien smiled to see Sabrina thank him and walk over to Erik, who got into the appropriate position and started dancing with her. Triss and Damien being waltzing as well, and Triss couldn't stop smiling at the sight of the young pair awkwardly missing steps to the rhythm. As they made their way around, they found that most of the boys were now dancing with most of the girls; it seemed Triss and Damien's plan had gone perfectly to plan.

"Solid planning, witcher." Triss smirked at him as they approached their table.

"What can I say?" He shrugged as they walked off to take a seat. "I'm a sucker for young love." Triss chuckled and rested herself on his shoulder following that remark.

"Well, well, would you look at that?" Edgar had returned to his spot, and looked out to see Erik dancing with Sabrina, both of them having an excellent time, if their massive grins and bursts of laughter were any indication. Damien and Triss turned to look at Edgar, who was beaming with joy. "My son's become a man!" With that, he raised his champagne glass and downed it in a single shot. Edgar looked to Damien and Triss, and smiled.

"Thank you for helping him. I knew he could do it, he just needed someone else's support."

"He's a good boy, Master Sybrius. We were proud to help." Sybrius nodded, and the two looked out over the mansion, enjoying each other's company as the night went on.

_End of Chapter Eight_


	9. Same City, Different Day

Chapter Nine: Same City, Different Day

_Spring 1274, two days later_

_Pont Vanis, Kingdom of Kovir and Poviss_

_Royal Palace_

Triss and Damien followed the chamberlain into the official office of King Tancred. He opened the door, and they followed into the room; the ceiling was vaulted, and the room itself was filled with books and documents, and dozens of maps were on the walls. In the center of the room was a table, and behind that, a chair, large, with golden outlines. In that chair sat King Tancred, scribbling intensely onto some paper. He saw the couple enter the room, and put down his quill and rose. The couple paused, and bowed appropriately. The king nodded and walked towards them.

"I appreciate your timeliness in arrival." The king smiled. From the small windows in the ceiling, it was clear that it was midday. "I have summoned the two of you here because I require an important task, but one that I must keep secret. No one else is to know what exactly will happen. Is that understood?" The two nodded. The king looked directly at Damien.

"While I can require Miss Merigold to do something on royal decree, I cannot for a witcher. If you wish to participate, I will need you to sign off on a few documents agreeing that you will listen to my word for the duration of this mission. If not, the chamberlain can escort you back to the antechamber."

"That will not be needed, Your Majesty. I will agree to participate in this mission, as long as I know what it is that I am signing away." The king smiled in the corner of his mouth at that remark. With that, he picked up a sheet on his desk and handed it to Damien. It detailed that for the duration of the mission, he would be seen as a contractor for the Kingdom of Kovir and Poviss, and any attempt to circumvent or compromise the mission in any way would be seen as high treason and punishable by execution. Damien read it over and saw no real issue.

"When this mission is completed, I will be free from this agreement, correct?"

"Correct. I simply need to be certain about your loyalty to Kovir if I am to trust you with the information I am about to give you." Damien nodded, and after getting a supportive nod from Triss, signed off on the agreement.

"Very well. Onto the contract, so to speak. You both know who Carlos Varese is, correct?" Triss nodded knowingly, but Damien was confused. Triss explained, "He's one of the two remaining crime lords of the city of Novigrad, the other being the King of Beggars."

The king nodded. "Yes, and even Mister Bedlam can hardly be seen as a crime lord now, considering how much he deals with Nilfgaard. But that is beside the point. Varese has become the largest black market trader of arms in the city. The Black Ones hate him, the Novigrad traders fear him, and he has something, and someone, who will be very important to Kovir. Do either of you know who Hattori is?" To that, Damien nodded, but Triss looked confused. It was Damien's turn to explain, "He's an elf in Novigrad, one of the best blacksmiths I've ever met. He can design like no one else."

"Yes, and he used to be under the protection of Mister Bedlam. He was contracted by Kovir to build certain designs for crossbows and catapults." The king looked to Triss, and saw that she understood what he was talking about. "There are others you may speak with about the details, but the important thing is that Varese seized the shop, stole the designs, and kidnapped Hattori about a week ago. We need those designs back; they are experimental, still not in use, but I do not under any circumstances want them falling into the hands of our enemies." With that, he looked up to the map directly across from him, which was updated to show the last of Nilfgaard's advances; Temeria, Aedirn, Novigrad, and Redania. For the first time in history, Nilfgaard and Kovir shared a border. True, it was a small border, on the Braa River between Talgar and the Arcsea, but it was border.

"Damien, you have proven yourself an excellent tracker. Miss Merigold, you have immense knowledge of the city and its underworld. Bring me Hattori's designs, and if possible, Hattori himself. You are to tell no one else the exact nature of your visit; officially, you are on a diplomatic visit to see Duke Morvran Voorhis, Lord of the City, and to recruit mages for the Corps. You will receive an official ship, funding, and will be staying in Novigrad for a fortnight. I request communication by megascope every other day until this is over. You leave tonight. Is that clear?"

The couple took everything in, and nodded in unison. "Yes Your Majesty."

**Two days later…**

_Novigrad Docks, City of Novigrad, Empire of Nilfgaard_

As the schooner docked in the harbor, Triss looked around. It was around midday, and cities docks were as busy if not busier than Triss had recalled. She reflected on what had changed in the last year and a half of Nilfgaardian rule.

The Church of Eternal Fire had been forced out of the city; she had heard of the violent riots and destruction in its aftermath, and the ensuing military takeover of the city. It had since been removed, and "civilian" rule had been restored, under a former general. Voorhis was the official head of the city, who took advice from the Council of Elders but acted on his own will and answered only to the Emperor himself. The religious fervor had died down since; gone were the pyres, and church sponsored pogroms. Discrimination was still rampant, she had heard, but it wasn't open and encouraged. Mages and nonhumans could live in the city, but few did. The stigma remained strong, and those who wanted safety turned to Vizima and Gors Velen rather than Oxenfurt and Novigrad.

In the end, the peace that came with Nilfgaardian rule had done more to assuage people's fears then the church ever could. It still had its supporters, but they grew fewer and fewer by the day in Novigrad, which was booming under the efficient hand of the Black Ones. Witch hunting was banned, but still practiced in small corners of Redania.

Dijkstra's death, and the move of Whoreson Junior/Cyprian Wiley (or Dudu, to a very small group of people) to blue water trading had left a large power vacuum in Novigrad's underworld. One that was filled partially by the weakening of the underworld in general, as the Black Ones weren't as puritanical as the Hierarch was, and by the rise of Carlos "Cleaver" Varese. Francis Bedlam, the King of Beggars, who Triss owed a great deal to, was not as large in the underworld as before; most of what he wanted had come with Nilfgaardian rule, and he was willing to cede most power to Varese. Triss had heard rumors that Bedlam was considering a seat on the Council of Elders, completing his move out of the underworld.

All of this Triss knew, from a combination of diplomats, spy reports and courtly intrigue, but there was much she did not know. Much that laid in store for her in the largest city in the world.

The couple disembarked from the schooner to find their way to the Chameleon, Dandelion's tavern. It proved a much longer walk then Damien had anticipated, and Triss was forced to deal with repeated questions of "is this it" and "are you sure we are going the right way" and "why did he put his tavern on the other end of town."

They finally made their way outside of the Chameleon. They saw close to a dozen patrons, some rich, some poor, guards and merchants and farmers, all drunk off their minds outside the entrance. Standing by the entrance was an old friend of Triss', one she was very glad to see again.

"Triss! Ploughing hells, dinnae know you were in town!" Zoltan was beaming to see Triss, and the two had an awkward hug. Zoltan turned to Damien, and grew a confused look on his face. "This a friend of yours…"

"More than just a friend, Zoltan. Why don't you two chat, and I'll go get Dandelion." She kissed Damien on the cheek before heading inside. Damien decided to take the initiative; it was clear Zoltan was feeling awkward meeting him.

"Damien of Oxenfurt, the Silver Blade of Hengfors. Witcher of the Griffin School." With that, Zoltan scoffed, laughing to himself.

"Witcher aye? Why am I not surprised…but besides that, I'm Zoltan Chivay. Good friend of Dandelion, Triss, and Geralt of Rivia." With that, Damien as well felt awkward. Fortunately, before they were forced to make more small talk, Triss came back through the door and urged them inside. They went inside to find Dandelion and Priscilla waiting for them.

"Welcome to the Chameleon, Damien of Oxenfurt! What do you think of my fine establishment?" With that, Dandelion bowed, and Damien looked around to see the tavern in full view. It was part cabaret, part inn, with dancers and whores and live performances all the same. The inn was full, and the place looked lively.

"Interesting design. I like the theater aesthetic of it all. Feels very fitting, given the owner." With that, Damien looked back to Dandelion, who accepted the compliment with gusto.

"But please, have yourselves something to eat and drink! I'm certain you two are famished after a long voyage. We'll speak later, I have a performance to put on soon!" With that, Dandelion and Priscilla ran off, and Triss and Damien enjoyed a very large amount of food and drink, and when the night drew to an end, finally got some time with Priscilla, Dandelion, and Zoltan. They all took seats at a table on the upper level, with Triss and Damien on one side, Dandelion and Priscilla on the other, and Zoltan resting on a pillar right next to them. Priscilla seemed to be doing better than Triss remembered the last time she was in Novigrad. She could speak fine, but she wasn't fully ready to sing. Supposedly, she wasn't going to be happy singing until she could hit the notes she used to before, so she avoided singing for the most part.

"So Triss, Damien, tell us what brings you here? And how did you two meet? I must know." Dandelion even had a note sheet ready, so he could compose his next ballad on this, as he was certain it would be a tale worth telling.

"Shall I start?" Damien looked to Triss, and she nodded. "So I was dealing with what I thought was a standard monster contract two months ago in Talgar, east of Kovir. Locals reported monsters in the local mines. I figured it would be straightforward, turned out to be anything but. Remember the Crones of Crookback Bog?" The other three nodded. "The one that escaped had holed herself in the mineshafts, and was summoning horrible monsters. She summoned a fiend that knocked me unconscious during a fight. I would have died if Triss here hadn't come to save me." He smiled and Triss, and she picked it up from there.

"The Crone had captured a local ambassador, so the king urgently needed the problem dealt with. Damien here had never returned, so the king sent me and a few other mages into the mines. We found Damien, nursed him back to health, cleared the mines, fought the Crone, and killed her once and for all. And of course, Damien got his turn to save my life by lifting me from certain death when the crone almost knocked me down the mountain. We realized we had a lot in common, and have been together since." They interlaced their fingers together in a hold, and lifted their held hands for the rest to see.

Dandelion's mouth was agape. Priscilla was smiling, and Zoltan was snickering to himself. Priscilla pipped up first, "It appears you were right, Dandelion my dear. Witchers and sorceresses do have some strange bond." Damien began laughing at that, drawing Dandelion's attention.

"What? It's perfectly reasonable, considering Geralt and Yen and Triss, and Lambert and Keira, and now you and Triss…" Dandelion was defending himself when Damien raised his hand in surrender.

"No, I know. I'm laughing because you're right. The only other actual relationship I ever had was with a mage in service to Kaedwen. She died in the last war, though." He got a bit sullen after that, but smiled afterwards. Dandelion only got more interested after that. "See? Priscilla I am onto something I tell you."

"So we can continue to gossip on, or we could actually catch up. Triss lass, what brings the two of ya here? Novigrad's far from Kovir, and it's still pretty ploughing shite here." Zoltan looked at Triss, who paused, getting a little bit more serious. She glanced around, and said, "We should go somewhere more private." Dandelion escorted them to the Ruby Suite, the largest suite in the inn, currently unoccupied. They closed the door behind them, and Triss cast a silencing spell and a detector charm.

"Officially, we are here on mage recruitment and a diplomatic visit to Duke Voorhis." Damien looked away as he prepared to watch Triss admit the plan. He trusted her, and he trusted her friends, but his worry was endangering them with the knowledge they had. "In reality, though, we are here to retrieve sensitive military information that officially doesn't exist. It's currently in the hands of Cleaver, and we need it back before he does something to it or sells it to Nilfgaard. Will you help us?" The other three were astonished at the news.

"Of course lass, but you know no one plays with Cleaver. Even that Beggar King knows it. The only human he ever feared was Sigi, and that bastard's dead. What do ya plan to do?" Zoltan looked worried; messing with the city's underworld never went well for anyone.

"We need to search the blacksmith Hattori's shop. See if we can find where they took him. He was the one Kovir had contracted, and he got kidnapped by Cleaver recently." Damien watched Zoltan's face as he sighed.

"Aye. He did. Apparently refused to sell to Cleaver's men, so they raided his shop and kidnapped him. I'd recommend Damien go search it tonight; you can hide better under the cover of nightfall."

"Very well. Damien can search the shop tonight. Tomorrow, Zoltan, the two of us have some searching and shopping to do. Dandelion, see what the latest word is on Cleaver. We meet back up here tomorrow at midday." With that, Triss had laid out the first part of their plan. Everyone went to sleep, except for Damien, who walked out onto the lightly trodden streets of late night Novigrad, following only a crudely drawn map and the moonlight.

**The next day, slightly past midday…**

Triss paced back and forth in the Ruby Suite. Damien had not returned; not even once had he been sighted, either in the Chameleon or in that portion of the city. She hadn't even run into him on her rounds. Fortunately, she had been able to get what she needed; material to make a few different types of bombs, all of which could come in handy during a prison break. She also had been able to find a map of the cities sewers and underground tunnels; although it was slightly outdated, she was able to overlay it with the map of Novigrad to find the main places where Cleaver's gang congregated. But most importantly, she had found the materials needed to make a xenovox. Unfortunately, the one thing it was useful for could not help her right now, as Damien had not returned and gotten one from her.

Her worry was assuaged, however, when she heard the door open and saw Zoltan and Dandelion come in, with Damien right behind them. He was fine, but he was covered in filth, and smelled strongly. Noticing their collective disgust, he responded "Try having a superhuman sense of smell. Think about how that feels. But anyways, we have leads now." He walked up to the map on the table in front of Triss.

"Hattori's shop was looted clean; basically nothing left behind. Fortunately, this meant they left a ton of tracks. One of them was drinking Mahakam spirit when they came in, so I was able to follow the scent. It led to this house," and with that, Damien pointed to one of the larger homes that belonged to Cleaver. "I couldn't get inside, so I went back to the home for some more leads. Found this," and with that, took out a key. "One of the henchdwarves must have dropped it. Not sure what it's used for, but could be useful nonetheless. Finally, followed some henchdwarves into the sewers. Couldn't get as far as I would have liked, but I'm pretty sure Cleaver's keeping the elf, and or his stuff, in this building."

With that, Damien pointed to the largest of the houses that belonged to Cleaver, his casino. "I know, because the guards were talking about torturing another nonhuman, and how they felt it was unfair given what he did was so minor."

Triss was amazed at all Damien had been able to figure out in such a short period of time. "So, we can perform hydromancy on the key, find what it opens. We need to scout out the casino, and at some point, raid it. And we need to figure out a way out." With that, she pointed at the sewer map. "Fortunately, I knew Cleaver's base is directly over the sewer lines. We can cause a distraction, enter through the sewers, take Hattori, and leave without causing too much of a mess."

"We'll have to kill his men in the sewer without alerting any guards. I suppose I'll be doing that. If that's the case, I have a blacksmith I need to meet."

"Zoltan, go and scout out the casino tonight with Damien. The two of you need to know if Hattori's in their possession or not. I need to find a fountain to preform hydromancy on this key to. Dandelion?"

Dandelion had been waiting patiently in a very out of person fashion, and quickly said, "Tomorrow Cleaver's hosting a massive celebration to honor the anniversary of the assassination of King Radovid. He's apparently ordered more alcohol for tomorrow then he has for the last month. If that's any indication, his guards will all be drunk off their minds. We have to strike tomorrow. It's our best chance."

"Ploughing hells…We dinnae have much time then." Zoltan was shaking his head.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Triss exclaimed, and the three men all rushed out the door.

**That evening…**

Damien and Zoltan entered the casino, finding it relatively full. Damien had cleaned up since midday, and had gotten all of his armor and weapons repaired, as well as buying a new weapon he had been meaning to get. Meanwhile, Triss' xenovox meant that Triss was able to tell him that the house he had originally identified was were the weapons and armor were kept, as that was where the key opened; it messed up their plan slightly, but it could still work. Tentatively, the current plan was to have Dandelion distract the main people in the casino, while Triss infiltrated the armory and Damien and Zoltan infiltrated the casino from the sewers. When it was all said and done, Hattori would be whisked away to the Koviri ship, where he would be kept under protection while Triss and Damien visited Duke Voorhis.

But that whole plan relied on one important aspect. That Damien and Zoltan figure out where Hattori was. And after a few successful rounds of dice poker and some hilariously one sided fist fights, the duo were no closer to figuring out where Hattori was, or if he was even here. They had the lower floor plan down to a tee, and knew every hiding spot on the next level, but couldn't get up to the highest level, as it was blocked off by guards. So Zoltan and Damien decided to do the one thing they could do best, that could distract the guards.

Start a drinking competition.

After around twenty consecutive shots, Damien was removed himself from the running, but not before getting many of the dwarves hammered. Zoltan was still going however, and while he kept the attention, Damien saw an opening up. He took a little bit of white honey, and quickly stumbled up the stairs. The white honey had given him enough clarity to hear what was going on, and he could easily here the sounds of someone struggling against binding in the room at the end, near the window. Damien then identified the place where the sewer entered, and headed down the stairs again before anyone else could find him. Unfortunately, the white honey wore off quickly, and he passed out at the bottom of the stairs.

When he woke up, it was the early hours of the morning, and he was lying next to the wall of the casino outside. Zoltan was sitting next to him, slowly drinking some water. The sun had yet to rise, but it was approaching dawn.

"We should probably 'ead back now. Triss won't be pleased if we arrive after she wakes." Damien nodded to Zoltan's words, and the two stumbled back to the Chameleon, incredibly hungover. They got back, threw up several times, and then passed out again.

Damien woke up to a splash of water on his face. He startled up, and found himself almost completely nude on the floor of the Ruby Suite, with Triss standing in front of him. She was clearly angry, and was holding a bucket that she had used to splash his face with.

"Are you a witcher or a drunken whoremonger? You know today is an incredibly important day, so can you explain why you drank yourself into a stupor?" Triss' words hurt Damien's head, as he was still quite hungover from all the drinking.

"Sorry darling, really, I am, but we needed to distract them, so we started a drinking competition. Had to participate to get them going. Don't worry, though. I know he's in there. He's in the second to last room on the left from the sewer entrance."

"You sure it's him?"

"Yes, he was cursing and struggling in elvish." Triss nodded, her face returning to normal. "Very well." With that, she put away the bucket and gave him a hand to lift him up. Damien got up, went to his satchel, and swallowed an entire bottle of white honey, helping to clear up his hangover. They had a long day ahead of them.

_End of Chapter Nine_


	10. For Koviri Eyes Only

Chapter Ten: For Koviri Eyes Only

_Spring 1274, that night_

_The Bits, Novigrad, Empire of Nilfgaard_

_Cleaver's Casino_

Damien and Zoltan were waiting in a small crevice in the wall near the sewer entrance. There were two guards through the gate, five more in the center of the basement area, four on the stairs up, and four standing by the door, two on either side. They could all hear the intense partying that was going on inside, and as the guards passed around Mahakam spirit, it didn't seem like anything could go wrong.

Until they suddenly heard the crowd in the casino get quiet. Damien looked at Zoltan, and the two realized the plan was starting. They could only hope that Dandelion knew what he was doing.

Outside the casino, Dandelion, flanked on both sides by large burly guards he had hired by the docks, walked right into the casino, where Cleaver was sitting in the middle. It was time to enact his crazy plan.

"Cleaver!" He shouted, drawing the burly dwarf's attention. He was in the middle of an arm wrestling match, and seeing Dandelion, smashed his opponent's hand into the table. The dwarf was not happy whatsoever to see the bard.

"Ploughing hell you want, bard." Cleaver got out of his seat and walked up in front of Dandelion, several guards flanking him. The casino got quiet as everyone was focusing on the two individuals standing off in the center of the room.

"Remember that time two years ago when we played for my debt over gwent?" Dandelion yelled, hoping to draw everyone's attention. It appeared he was, and was getting nervous. These people could very easily kill him, and there wasn't much stopping them.

"Aye, and I beat your lily-livered arse so hard you owed me twice as much as before!" He laughed, and the crowd laughed with him. Dandelion waited for the laughter to subside, and retorted.

"Well I've returned, built a stronger deck, and challenge you again!"

"You're not worth my time. Unless you play for high stakes, we don't play at all." With that, Cleaver turned around, and the crowd started to boo Dandelion. With that, Dandelion took out the card he knew would get Cleaver's attention.

"What about this?" And with that, he had taken out Ciri's card. Dandelion had heard that Cleaver was looking hard for that; it was the final card he wanted in his Scoia'tael deck, and he always played Scoia'tael. Unfortunately, Ciri was an insanely rare card; Damien was not very willing to part with it, but he figured he had to if they could get Cleaver distracted. Cleaver turned around, saw Ciri's card, and looked to Dandelion, and back to the card.

"Someone get us a table."

While Damien and Zoltan patiently waited, it seemed from the noise subsidence that Dandelion was beginning the gwent match, but they weren't sure, until they heard Triss through the xenovox.

"I see Dandelion. He's near the entrance, playing gwent. Now is your chance, go!"

The two men looked at each other, and began their plan. It was fairly straightforward; draw two guards out, kill them silently, then rush in, kill the guards closest to the door, and take care of the rest.

But it's hard to kill people on the other side of the room first, without making too much noise. Which is why Damien had bought two crossbows.

They readied their crossbows with silent bolts, and played the oldest trick in the book; throwing a bottle further down from their position. It immediately piqued the interest of the two guards closest to the doors, who were drunk off their minds, and they started mumbling about hearing something. They opened the door and stumbled down. As they passed them, they found two bolts waiting. They died before they could even try to take another breath.

Zoltan drew his axe, and Damien drew his cutlass. Zoltan also took out a Devil's Puffball bomb, ready to throw it onto the stairs. Damien had drawn his crossbow with an exploding shard bolt, hoping to kill the entrance guards in a single shot.

They charged in to find the guards all lying around, most passed out, several dozing off. Their preparation proved fairly useless, and they made quick work of the henchdwarves without much effort. Damien got to use his bolt, but both had been expecting a harder fight. They walked up the stairs, avoiding the dead dwarves, and opened the door into the casino. They walked up the hallway, and approached the place where Damien had been the night before, but this time, the stairs where on his left, and the room was to his right. Everyone below them was watching with baited breath as Dandelion and Cleaver were beginning their final round. Both had won one round, and both were down to four cards.

Damien and Zoltan carefully walked over to the room they thought was Hattori's room; although there wasn't a guard on the stairway, they didn't want to attract attention from below. They got to the door to find it locked, and they could hear several people inside. Damien knew they would have to be quick, so they chose to wait for the crowd below to make as much noise as possible to hide the sound of him blasting the door down.

They got their respite shortly. Unfortunately, it didn't come exactly how they would have wanted; Dandelion had won, and Cleaver was certain the bard had cheated. They heard Cleaver scream, "Get the bastard!" and dozens of dwarves clambered up and chased Dandelion out of the casino. They took their chance, and Damien blasted the door down with Aard. The door collapsed to reveal two dwarves torturing Hattori, who was bound to a chair and being prodded with a hot iron. Zoltan and Damien made quick work of the dwarves, and Damien started to free Hattori from his bonds.

"I told them I wouldn't talk for them, I won't talk for you either-"

"Relax, we're working with Kovir, we're here to get you to safety." With that, Damien had freed Hattori from his bonds, and the elf stood up, not sure to believe him. They could hear someone coming up the stairs.

"Look, we need to go now!" They ran out the door and sprinted to the sewer entrance. They saw from their peripheral vision several dwarves coming up to investigate, so Zoltan and Damien threw a Devil's Puffball and Grapeshot bomb, respectively, in their direction. They shut the door and heard the dual explosions rock the casino, and took off with Hattori in tow into the sewers.

After communicating to Damien what had happened, Triss began her part of the plan. She had gotten herself onto the roof of the building adjacent to the armory, and had a clear view of one of the upper floor windows. She teleported inside the room, stabbed the one guard in the room, took his master key and started looking around. After a few minutes of searching, and a few more dead dwarves, she found the safe, and opened it with the master key. Inside was a great deal of valuables: rare swords, runestones, diamonds, but what Triss cared about most was the small box with the Koviri chest on it. It was magically sealed, designed to only open on the command of the one person who was designated to open it. Triss knew, she had helped design it. She was glad to see it wasn't opened; there were signs of attempts to physically force it open, but only a mage like herself could disenchant it. All the better they had gotten to it; Nilfgaard would have been able to find a mage capable of opening it in a heartbeat, without Hattori's command. Without a mage, Cleaver was forced to torture Hattori to open the box for him. She was certain to give the elf full support; through it all, he had remained loyal to Kovir, good to his word.

Triss heard footsteps coming up, and teleported herself back to the ship.

**Shortly thereafter…**

Triss turned around to see the entrance to the lower level of the ship open to Damien, Zoltan, and an elf she assumed was Hattori. They walked in, and a guard above them closed the entrance. She ran up and kissed Damien hard; she was so worried something would go wrong, that they would fail, that they wouldn't be able to make it. She had heard the explosions; she didn't know what to think. But she was glad to see them in one piece, alive.

"No one saw you come here, right?" Triss asked.

"Nope. We lost them in the sewers. That's the good news. The bad news is…"

"We left 'proof' that the King of Beggars was behind this." Triss turned to Zoltan, who was using air quotes when he said proof. Triss got incredibly confused; no part of the plan included doing something like that.

"What do you mean, proof?" Upon hearing that, Damien looked to Zoltan, who took out a Putrid Grove symbol. "We dropped these as we left, so they wouldn't come after us-"

"What part of the plan included that?!" Triss screamed, livid that they had plotted behind her back. Zoltan decided to defer to Damien, who looked scared, but tried to mitigate the situation anyways.

"Triss, I know it wasn't in the plan, but we knew they would look for Hattori. The first guess would be someone or something suspicious, like the official Koviri ship that arrived a few days earlier out of nowhere. We had to throw them off our scent, to ensure they wouldn't come for us or Dandelion. Cleaver will bite the idea of it being Bedlam who did it hook line and sinker."

Triss turned away. Although she wasn't loyal to Bedlam, she still felt bad. The man had sheltered her for months in this city during one of the worst times in her life. She never went a night without thinking she might die the next day, and she had never gotten a chance to pay him back for all he had done for her. Instead, in her first return in years, she was throwing him under the carriage to save her own hide.

"I know it's not fair of us to do so, but don't be hard on yourself. Bedlam's smart, he can take care of himself. He's got resources we don't right now."

Triss looked back, staring into Damien's face, her green eyes conveying worry and guilt. "You're right…"

"Ploughing hells, we can get Whoreson to help 'im out, cannae we?" Zoltan said, hoping to cheer Triss up.

Triss' face lit up. "We could! Zoltan, tomorrow-"

"Today." It was hard to tell, but they were already in the next morning.

"At dawn, you'll go to Whoreson Jr, and tell him to give Bedlam support."

"I know what to say lass. Don't worry 'bout me. And you lot?" Zoltan looked to Damien, who was nursing Hattori's wounds.

"We have a meeting with Duke Voorhis we need to prepare for, don't we?"

Triss smiled. Today was going to be an interesting day.

**Midday that day…**

_Black Sun Isle, formerly Temple Isle, Novigrad, Empire of Nilfgaard_

_Duke Voorhis' Manor_

Triss and Damien decided to dress up again in preparation for their meeting with the Duke. As they walked up to the entrance of the manor, they fit right in with any couple in the area, looking fresh of out Gildorf. Triss was wearing a flowing green and blue dress, which showed ample cleavage and exposed her upper back and her thighs as it parted. Damien had his hair parted on either side, trimmed and washed, and he was wearing a fresh white linen shirt, and had his two blades behind him, just oiled and repaired. They approached the captain of the guard, who was standing outside the manor with a dozen soldiers around him.

"State your business." He said, gruffly.

"I am Miss Triss Merigold, and this is my companion witcher Damien of Oxenfurt. We are here on official Koviri business with Duke Voorhis." Triss had her arm around Damien's, and she watched as the captain looked down onto his sheet.

"Very well. You're a bit early, the Duke is off running some errands. I'll bring you to his office however. Follow me. And master witcher, if you would please remove your weapons." Damien obliged, and removed his two swords and gave them to the captain.

They followed the captain into the manor, and down a few hallways and numerous guards into the Duke's official office. They sat down in chairs directly in front of his table. A guard was waiting for them inside the room, watching over them. The captain closed the door, and the couple got a chance to look around and marvel at the beauty of the office. There were Nilfgaardian banners and maps everywhere, and it was clear the man was busy, as his table was covered in papers.

A few minutes later, a butler came inside the room. "The Duke has requested you two join him for lunch. He has been made late and feels it would be rude to keep guests famished. If you would follow me." The couple got up and followed the butler through several more halls into the dining room.

The dining table was fairly large, but there were only two people sitting at the table. One man directly in front of them, on the other side of the table, and a woman to his left.

The man was Duke Morvran Voorhis. The woman, Triss realized, was Baroness Mary Louisa La Valette.

"Miss Merigold and witcher Damien! How good it is to finally meet you two! Please, come, have a seat and dine with us." Voorhis motioned to the two seats to his right. The couple sat down, with Triss sitting closest to Voorhis.

"I'm certain the two of you have heard of my companion, Baroness Mary Louisa La Valette?" The two nodded as dishes were brought to them by the butler. They were both served smoked pheasant, a proper delicacy.

"Indeed. It's an honor to meet you at last, Baroness." Triss said. Damien greeted the Baroness as well, and the woman focused intently on him.

"My oh my Miss Merigold. I must say, you have good taste." With that, Mary smiled wickedly at Damien and took a sip of her wine. Damien gave a bow in his seat. "What can I say? Wild women attract wild men." He smiled. Triss blushed and lightly hit Damien on the arm, and Morvran and Mary laughed in response.

"Well, as much as I enjoy banter, I know we have business to discuss. I want to apologize for my tardiness; we've been having some issues keeping the peace in the Bits today. Cleaver's henchdwarves were attacking shopkeepers in the streets outright. Had to nip that in the bud before it became more severe." Morvran's smile indicated he knew slightly more than he was letting on, and Triss' fake intrigued face gave away absolutely nothing.

"Of course. To maintain order and stability is essential to any realm, regardless of race or creed." She smiled back as the butler poured them both glasses of wine.

"Glad to see we are all on the same page. After all, my diplomat was telling me of what happened in Talgar. I'm so glad you were able to handle the problem. A destabilization in a border region is always alarming, especially with Hengfors so close."

Damien decided he wanted a piece of the verbal duel. "Say what you will, but Hengfors follows the reward first, the ruler second. I would know, it takes a soldier of fortune to know one." His smirk caused Morvran to grow an intrigued look on his face.

"Is that so? Is it coin that drives the noble Damien of Oxenfurt?"

"Not all rewards come in the form of coin, milord." Triss looked to Damien, who glanced back at her. He could see the pride in her eyes.

"One could argue that such personal motivations are more compelling and make one more loyal than duty ever can." The Baroness quipped, drawing a quick glance from Morvran. The man was the epitome of purebred duty, and the Baroness the symbol of personal gain over loyalty. They were either perfect or horrible for one another. It was very hard to tell.

"Regardless, I was made aware by his noble Majesty King Tancred that you had a correspondence he wanted delivered in utmost confidence." Triss nodded, and turned to Damien, who drew a letter, sealed with Kovir's royal crest, written on royal parchment. He handed the letter to Triss, who handed it to Voorhis. The duke put the letter in his pocket.

"Thank you. Now, I must ask, Miss Merigold. How goes the mage recruitment? The King mentioned something of the sort in his letter." Duke Voorhis was watching Triss intently.  _Ah yes, our official excuse for wandering around the city._

"Not as well as we had hoped. Novigrad's mage population has dwindled significantly. We found an alchemist, and extended an invitation. All in all, though, it proved to be an informative expedition." Triss intentionally ended openly, so as to draw the duke out.

"People can be stubborn Miss Merigold, and until the people of this city change, mages won't be as common in this city as they were before the war."

The four kept eating, making observations and comments on the food they were eating, but other than that, staying relatively silent. Triss felt they had successfully navigated the lunch.

When Damien sent back his plate, they knew it was time for Triss and Damien to depart. They got up, out of their seats, and shook farewells to the Duke and the Baroness.

"Thank you for coming, Miss Merigold and witcher Damien. I hope our paths cross again someday." The duke said, as he escorted them back to the manor entrance.

"We were glad to make your acquaintance. Do visit Kovir if you get the chance. It's beautiful this time of year." Triss smiled, and curtsied. To that, Damien bowed. Morvran smirked as the guards returned Damien his swords and opened the door to leave.

"I'm certain Pont Vanis is in my near future." With that, he and the Baroness headed back into the manor, and Triss and Damien exited the Duke's residence, ready to say their final goodbyes to their friends and head out of the city before nightfall.

**That night…**

_Somewhere off the coast of Redania, southwest of Roggeveen_

_Great Sea, Redania, Empire of Nilfgaard_

_Aboard the Eagle's Talon_

As the ship sailed through the choppy seas, Damien decided it was finally time to go to sleep. Triss had already head below deck to rest, but Damien had chosen to stay up and watch the stars. When he went below deck, he found Hattori pouring over a map of the Northern Kingdoms. He saw Triss further down deck, fast asleep.  _Eh, who knows when I'll see this elf again?_ Damien decided to talk to him.

The elf had laid out the map on a table next to him, pouring over it by candlelight. Damien rested against the ship next to him, drawing his attention.

"Seem really interested in that map. Anything in particular catch your fancy?"

The elf looked at Damien with scrunched eyes, but decided to trust the man. After all, witchers had proven to be loyal in the past, and the present. And if Miss Merigold trusted him, maybe he could tell him what he was thinking about.

"What do you know about the Secession of Poviss?" The mentioning of the event drew Damien's immediate attention.

"What do I know?" He said incredulously. He had lived through it. It was almost 45 years ago, but it still felt recent.

It began with rebellion, when Duke Rhyd of Poviss declared he was no longer going to answer to King Baldwin. But the rebellious attitude spread beyond Poviss; the East March seceded as well, as did the Arcsea. Prior to it, Kovir had been Keeper of the Dragon Mountains, running a contiguous landmass that seemed to only grow and grow. But the differences were plentiful, and it only took the aging of King Baldwin to begin the airing of grievances. Half of the kingdom declared independence. The East March collapsed as an independent entity as quickly as it formed, and the from the mess rose the Hengfors League. Damien was wintering in Kaer Nyseen in Malleor at the time, and was caught up in the upheaval. He remembered helping to shelter innocents in the witcher fortress as Caingorn and Malleor duked it out in vicious fighting. When the Hengfors League rose, there was some resemblance of peace, only for it to be shattered immediately. Idi took the throne from Baldwin, and for nearly a decade ruled Kovir, driving the royal family into Talgar. Damien remembered all the mess it caused, all the suffering that was experienced. He had helped shelter the royal family, protected them when Idi's forces came for them.

In all of this Esterad Thyssen, Baldwin's son, was raised. The boy became a man in exile, and after his father died, plotted to regain his rightful throne. In the infamous night of knives and torches, he and his men put Idi and his entire line to the sword. They showed equal mercy to Duke Rhyd, and after over a decade of war and turmoil, Kovir had returned to peace; but at what cost? The entirety of the East March was lost, turned into a pseudo-monarchy propped up by slavers and mercenary captains. The Arcsea was swallowed up by King Vizimir of Redania during the mess. The region was destabilized, and it took Kovir decades to recover, only for the Nilfgaard wars to begin.

Esterad never forgot what happened all those years ago. Unfortunately, the decades of intermittent warfare meant that he never got a chance to fulfill his dream of restoring the old borders of Kovir. He went to the grave ruling a Kovir that was wealthy, efficient, but just noise in the wind to Radovid's Redania.

But Tancred had a different cast in life. Esterad's son had all of his father's knowledge of ruling but a touch of a wild side in him. When the North was persecuting mages en masse, he took them in. He had held to the First Treaty of Lan Exeter, and watched patiently as Nilfgaard swallowed half the North in their final war for dominance, but Damien's recent interactions with the young king made him believe the ruler was plotting something.

"I was simply asking as a formality." Hattori said. Damien's glance indicated that he was very well acquainted with the Secession, and that he was almost offended he would ask. "So you know how the Arcsea and Hengfors were originally Koviri lands?" Damien nodded.

"That was decades ago though."

"It was, but much has changed in the last few decades. Kovir never marched on Hengfors because Kaedwen backed them, and Esterad didn't bother with the Arcsea to avoid Vizimir's wrath. When Vizimir died, he considered it, but decided it wasn't worth the risk. Then we saw Radovid come to power, and all bets were off. But the North isn't what it was when Esterad died. Temeria is Nilfgaard's vassal, Kaedwen is still recovering from the war, and Redania will be nothing without leaders like Radovid."

"Are you trying to imply that Kovir will restore the North? That they can go toe to toe with Nilfgaard and win?"

"Of course not. I'm no John Natalis, no Morvran Voorhis. I can't predict what would happen in war, let alone if it will happen. All I know is that Kovir has strong claims, strong forces and deep pockets. Have you heard the latest news from Blaviken?"

Damien nodded. Before they had left from Pont Vanis, they had heard what had happened. Redanian nationalists had attacked the city's Nilfgaardian garrison, burned it to the ground. The government in Tretogor had send a regiment north to deal with the insurgents, who were apparently operating out of the nearby forests, raiding Black'un shipments. They had heard countless stories like this in the last few months, and Damien had experienced it the last time he was in Redania. Though most in the southern regions could accept Nilfgaardian rule, many northerners demanded independence. The Arcsea and the Nimnar valley remained places of strong nationalist sentiment, and as a result, they were sparsely garrisoned by Nilfgaard.

Hattori continued. "The Arcsea is unstable. Redania could very easily break out in full-fledged rebellion. It's the talk of the town in Novigrad. Cleaver's men are more excited than ever; black market arms are their specialty."

"Interesting."

"Indeed, master witcher. The power balance has shifted dramatically in the North. Where it goes from here, no one can truly know."

The witcher nodded in response, and headed to his bunk, after saying goodnight to the elf. He laid down and thought about all that he had thought about and spoke of.

There were some very important people, and very important places, that he needed to visit.

_End of Chapter Ten_


	11. Griffins and Wolves

Chapter Eleven: Griffins and Wolves

_Summer 1274, three months later_

_Kaer Morhen, Kaedwen_

As Damien's horse trotted up the thin path to the witcher fortress, he wondered how he was going to explain the diversion he had taken. Technically speaking, he was to go to Aedd Gynvael to recruit mages for Kovir. Considering he had taken the month before to journey on the Path in Kovir, he knew he owed the mages (but really, only Triss) the decency to help out. As such, Triss had ordered him to return home as quickly as possible. A fortnight ago he had set out from Lan Exeter, ostensibly for Aedd Gynvael. It just so happened that he was several hundred leagues to the southeast in the foothills of the Blue Mountains. In the middle of a valley that was inhabited only by a witcher fortress.

 _Not really much mage recruitment to be done out here_.  _Not much of anything to be done out here_. He admired the tranquility of the valley. It reminded him a lot of Kaer Nyseen, which he had finally visited again for the first time since the war ended. Considering the winters Olivia had spent with him in Kaer Nyseen, it had been difficult for him to return, which is why he hadn't. But finding Triss had enabled him to finally move on, and return to the only place he could really call home.

It was also why he had asked to go to Aedd Gynvael. It was where Olivia had hailed from; she had brought him to the city once to meet some of her friends and other loved ones. He never got a chance to pay his final respects to her.

Olivia had been…different. She had been aggressive in places where Damien was cautious, apprehensive when Damien was certain. He had liked her vivacity, how full of life she was.

But she had also been foolish. She lived in Sabrina Glessviig's shadow, and had looked up to the fearsome and dangerous sorceress. Damien had never trusted Sabrina; she was too aggressive, too demanding, and obsessed with power. But even her downfall didn't stop Olivia from trying to replicate her, something that had angered Damien a great deal during those last few months they were together.

Her obsession with power, her desire to be feared in the court, kept her in Kaedwen through the war, even when Temeria and Aedirn fell and everything seemed lost. Even as eagle banners were crossing the Kestrel Mountains. That was her flaw, her fatal flaw; she always thought she knew what she was doing. She didn't think she needed advice or pearls of wisdom.

Triss had her flaws as well. She could be hot headed, and she works far too hard for her own good. But Triss knew how to respect Damien's advice. She knew he was more knowledgeable in Koviri culture and history then she was. For now, at any rate. She knew exactly where her loyalties lay and wasn't hiding any cards, so to speak. It made Damien feel bad about coming to Kaer Morhen without telling her, but he knew it would only distract her from her work if she knew how far he was going. He could take care of himself, after all, just like she could.

Damien rode up to the metal gate to see it slightly raised; someone must have head out recently. The gate looked strange, like part of it was newer then the rest.  _Must be part of the repair process._  He rode through the gate into the front courtyard.

Inside, he found a man who was clearly a witcher; he was wearing a wolf medallion, had two blades, one on his back, the other on his lap, as he was oiling it. His armor was red with spikes across the top, his brown hair parted down the middle, much like Damien's.

He also had a massive disfigurement on the side of his face that pointed towards Damien.

The witcher looked to Damien, and got up. "Anything I can help you with?" He said, keeping his voice calm. Eskel wasn't sure what to make of the man; he had two blades and a griffin medallion, so he had to be a witcher. But it was rare for people to visit, and so he wanted to be cautious, all the same.

Damien dismounted his horse and offered a hand to Eskel. "Damien of Oxenfurt, the Silver Blade of Hengfors. Witcher of the Griffin School." Eskel smirked, and gave him a strong handshake. "Who might you be?"

"Eskel. Witcher as well, of the Wolf School. What brings you to Kaer Morhen?"

"So you're Eskel! Triss mentioned you." Eskel gave Damien a confused look, wondering how he knew who Triss was. Damien realized he should clarify himself.

"We are very well acquainted, Triss and I. We met in Kovir. But anyways, I'm here to pay my respects to Vesemir's grave. I met Lambert, and he mentioned you guys built him a monument. I was hoping you could point me in the right direction."

Eskel looked surprised. He gave Damien a full glance. The man was built, slightly taller than himself, but less stocky. His armor was green and black, with a griffin symbol across the neckline. He hadn't spoken to Triss properly since the battle, but figured it made sense for him to become 'acquainted' with Triss.  _Does he think I was born yesterday? They are probably ploughing._  In many ways, he was happy Triss had finally moved on from Geralt. It was about time, considering he always knew the man would go back to Yen.

"Well, yeah, we did. Ciri's gone to visit it right now. She's heading out on the Path afterwards, wanted to stop by before she left. If you follow her path up the trail from the gate, you could probably still catch her. She could point you in the right direction." He wasn't sure if he should be telling the man this, but he knew Ciri was a strong woman. She could cut the man in half if he became a threat. And besides, Eskel could tell this guy was being honest. He wasn't trying to hide anything with his eyes or face. Why? Eskel could only guess.

"Thank you so much, mate, I'll be sure to swing by." With that, the strange witcher mounted his horse and rode off.  _Why does he care about Vesemir's grave?_  He decided to be safe, and waited a little bit before riding off behind him.

 _He probably thinks I want to hurt Ciri or the grave._  Damien thought as he rode off, galloping up the path.  _He's probably going to follow_. Granted, Damien would be equally suspicious if someone came to Kaer Nyseen like that. But Damien had to be quick.  _How often does one get to meet the Lion Cub of Cintra?_

Damien followed the path up on top of a hill that was north of Kaer Morhen. He saw another horse grazing nearby, and decided to dismount as well. He decided it would be best to take out Vesemir's medallion in preparation, and headed up the hill.

Ciri was sitting, her eyes closing as she focused intently on everything Vesemir had taught her. If Geralt and Yennefer had been her parents, Vesemir was her wise and sagacious uncle, who always knew what to say and helped keep her calm all those years ago.

She hadn't set out on the Path in over a year; she had focused hard on the renovations. They had managed to fix all the breaches, seal the gaps, and repair all the damage that had been done over the years. There was much to be done, but Ciri knew she was in a good place to stop. She found it difficult to leave Kaer Morhen in a worse state then she had found it, and through all of her hard work, the fortress was strong again.

Her monument to Vesemir, a solid white marble tower that reached up about five feet off the ground, with wolf etchings surrounding it, had always felt lacking. She had his ashes in a small box beneath the monument, his blades buried with him. Try as she may, though, she could never move on from her final failure; she had never been able to recover Vesemir's medallion.

She was reflecting on all the time she had spent with Vesemir, losing herself in thought, when she heard a horse neigh. One that did not sound anything like Kelpie's or Scorpion's.  _There shouldn't be anyone else in the valley except me and Eskel_. She opened her eyes, got up, and drew her blade, readying her hand to cast Quen the second she needed to.

She looked to the bottom of the hill to see someone she didn't recognize, climbing up the hill. He looked about Lambert's age, long parted black hair, and his armor was green and black, with a griffin medallion around his neck. He had two blades on his back, and in his hand was a medallion. A wolf medallion.

Ciri wasn't sure what to make of the man; she knew of the Griffin School, but she had never actually met a member. And even as a fellow witcher, she wasn't sure if she could trust him, considering Geralt had told her of numerous bad encounters with other witchers.

The man looked up to Ciri, and beamed. He was clearly glad to see Ciri, and it didn't look sinister, but she kept her blade draw all the same.

"Who are you and what the ploughing hells are you doing here?" Ciri was not happy to be disturbed.

"Cirilla, isn't it? I've heard a lot about you. Triss speaks very highly of you." With that, she was surprised. The man recognized her, and more importantly, knew who Triss was, and was clearly acquainted with her.

"It doesn't matter who I may or may not be, answer the question. Who are you and why are you here?" Damien chuckled to himself.

"I am Damien of Oxenfurt, the Silver Blade of Hengfors, a fellow witcher. I've come to return something that belonged to Vesemir." With that he reached out with his right hand, which was holding Vesemir's medallion. Ciri looked down at it, and then back at Damien. She lowered her blade slightly and reached out to take the medallion. He handed it to her, and she looked at it more carefully.

It was dented and dinged in the places she remembered, and in a few additional places. She felt a strange magic surrounding it, different from that which normally surrounds medallions.

"What…how did you…where…" Ciri was so confused. She didn't even know this man, but he had somehow been able to get the medallion. Damien motioned to the monument, and they both walked towards it and sat down.

"I feel it's appropriate I tell you my story." With that, Damien explained to her the entirety of it all; from the issuing of the contract, to the issues in the mines, to Triss' arrival, to the fighting with the Crone, even mentioning the encounter with Lambert. Ciri felt the man was telling the truth, not just because his heartrate only seemed to jump when he talked about Triss, but because he seemed incredibly genuine and open, quite different from most witchers she knew, who were much rougher on the outside.

"Thank you." Ciri said, after taking a solid moment to reflect and think, as she moved to put the medallion around the monument. Before she could, Damien reached forward and stopped her.

"There's a reason I came personally instead of simply having someone bring it. The Crone cursed the medallion. I figured it out one night when I was studying it; it's barely noticeable, but it's there. Until then, it remains a tool of dangerous power. Fortunately, we, or at least you, can break it."

"Me? Any particular reason?"

"Yes. You were close to Vesemir, were you not?" Ciri looked away, and nodded. "Only someone like yourself can break it. There are two things holding the curse together; a missed acceptance and a missed goodbye. Vesemir never got to hear Lambert accept him, and never got to hear you say goodbye. Until then, the curse remains on the medallion, and it can draw monsters to it to revive the witch."

"…but what use is that? We don't have Lambert-"

"I've already gotten Lambert's part covered. I had the medallion in my pocket when Lambert accepted him as his mentor when they visited us in Kovir. It's just down to you." Ciri sighed, realizing that Damien was well prepared.

She looked back the monument, and thought for a moment. She put the medallion down in front of her, closed her eyes, and put her hands in her lap. She took a deep breath, breathing in the warm summer air.

"Goodbye Vesemir. I'll miss you." The words were simple, but for some reason it was hard to get them out. As she uttered them, she could have sworn she heard the wind pick up for a second, and the medallion flashed for a moment. She picked it up to find it warm, much warmer than it was when she had put it down. "The curse should be broken, correct?" Damien nodded, and with that, she put the medallion at the base of the monument. She felt like she could finally move on from that chapter in her life; that she had given Vesemir what he deserved, and could willingly leave Kaer Morhen without any regrets, without any worry of failing.

They got up to head back to their horses to find Eskel riding in. Seeing that there wasn't a problem, he quickly excused himself, before Ciri chided him for leaving the guest so rudely. They rode back to Kaer Morhen, said goodbye to Eskel, who closed the gate behind him, as the two rode off to exit the valley.

"Any particular plans?" Damien asked as they rode down the path that led out of the valley. For now, their paths were one, and so they chose to ride next to each other.

Ciri looked at back at Damien. "South, to Ard Carraigh. Good place to start. From there, who knows? Eskel mentioned going east, but I think I'll stick to the North for now. You?"

"I'm officially supposed to be helping Triss out in recruiting new mages in Aedd Gynvael, so I'm heading north. This happened to be an oh so convenient diversion in the road."

"Ah yes, I can see how the clearly marked highway signs can lead you into an almost completely uninhabited valley."

"Finally, someone who understands." The two laughed. They continued to tell each stories and make biting quips until they reached the end of the valley. It was only an hour or so to sunset, and they encountered the fork in the road; one direction leading south, the other north.

"This is where I leave you. It's been good meeting you at last. Good fortune to you on the Path." With that, Damien reached across and shook Ciri's hand. They both smiled.

"Same to you, witcher." With that, they rode off in different directions, their paths diverging in the lush forests of the peaceful valley.

_End of Chapter Eleven_


	12. This Witcher Ain't Free

Chapter Twelve: This Witcher Ain't Free

_Autumn 1274, three months later_

_Lan Exeter, Kingdom of Kovir and Poviss_

_Royal Palace_

Damien had to admit, he was a little bit uncomfortable.

Although he could act decently within normal banquets, he still never felt very pleasant at them, and mostly just ran on pure confidence. After all, the only real worry was accidently embarrassing oneself in front of a noble lord. His luck had ensured that such had never happened, which is why he rarely left Kovir's lands. The treatment was better, the coin was better, and the people were better.

To some extent.

But a mage council was a completely different set of dice. He was never too comfortable around large groups of mages, and he knew for a fact he did not belong in such company. But here he was, in a guest suite in the royal palace with his sorceress lover, preparing for the first Council of Mages meeting in seven years, since Thanedd Island.

Many were understandably nervous. The invitations had gone out months earlier, and they had received some replies. Most of the Lodge was coming, as were dozens of other mages in Nilfgaard. The entirety of the Corps would be there, massively outnumbering the rest; there were as many members in the Corps as there were invitations that were sent out. Talk about overrepresentation.

Tonight was the banquet. Tomorrow, the conference. Damien had been very hesitant to come, but Triss had pushed him to do it.

He finished fitting his doublet and looked at Triss; she looked absolutely stunning. The dress she had chosen was a maroon dress, and it cut a deep V down her chest, and opened just past her hips. It was light and thin, accentuating her curves. Her fiery hair was partially down, partially up, her favorite style. She was putting on her jewelry when she noticed his stare. She smiled as she looked into the mirror.

"My oh my, Damien. We can't have you thinking such filthy thoughts. Imagine what the others will say." She said mockingly, chuckling to herself as she read Damien's mind. The witcher moved up behind her and placed his hands on the top of the chair, and leaned in next to her ear.

"I'm only imagining what you'll be saying tonight." His breath against her check, she looked away, blushing and giggling like a young girl. She looked back into the mirror, and smirked devilishly.

"I'll hold you to that, witcher. But that is later. We have guests to entertain first." Damien pouted, and she laughed.

The couple left their room and headed down to the main hall where the banquet was being served. Damien looked around the room as they entered, Triss' arm around his. Dozens of witches and wizards had arrived already, and they were all quite intrigued at seeing the pair. Damien knew it was bound to be an interesting night.

They were approached first by a sorceress wearing a tight black dress that revealed quite a lot of skin and showed ample cleavage. Her short black hair and Nilfgaardian necklace allowed Damien to realize who she was, even though he had never met her.

"Fringilla! It's been years!" The two sorceresses embraced and kissed the air around each other's cheeks.  _Here we go,_  Damien thought to himself. The introductions, the constant embracing. Damien could hide his distaste around normal humans. But mages had the incredibly rude habit of reading minds; something even Triss did from time to time. Fringilla turned to Damien and reached out a hand, which he kissed while leaning forward without even a second thought.

"So is this the famed witcher who caught Triss Merigold?" Fringilla gave Damien's whole body a long glance, her eyes conveying she liked what she saw. Damien found her breasts quite alluring, but tried to not let that distract him. Unfortunately for him, it appeared both witches had noticed. Telepathy can be quite the tool. Fringilla smirked at him.

"Damien of Oxenfurt. I've heard many things about you lady Fringilla." With that he bowed.

"Indeed you have love. Could you do us a favor and get us some wine?" Triss was trying to hide her jealousy, but Damien could feel it in her tone, but knew it was better to just listen. He left the two sorceresses to grab some wine.

As he went to the table with the wine, and poured two glasses, he was approached by yet another sorceress. Fortunately, this one he knew.

"Good to see you Damien. I'm glad to see your expedition in Poviss went smoothly." Keira stood next to him, getting herself a plate of caviar. Damien looked around to see Lambert sulking in a corner, attempting to avoid the intrigue of one of the younger mages of the Corps. He chuckled to himself at the sight. "Good to see you too Keira. Glad you and Lambert could make it." She smiled, and turned to look at Lambert, shaking her head.

"I leave the man alone for thirty seconds…pardon me, I must go watch my lover. From what I see, you should as well." With that Keira motioned ever so slightly at Triss, who was chewing out Fringilla by the looks. By the time he returned, she had driven the Nilfgaardian sorceress off.

"I was never one for wine, but I'll suppose it will do." He remarked, as he took the glass meant for Fringilla as he returned to Triss' side. She turned to look at him, clearly still annoyed. Once Damien handed her the glass, and she responded.

"You saw the way she was looking at you. Disgusting. That ploughing Nilfgaardian whore…" She took a long gulp of her glass.

"Darling, don't worry about it. They-"

"I know, they just want to test me. I'm aware. It's just…Fringilla in particular…"

"Has shown she can seduce men that both of you find attractive?" Triss and Damien turned to see another sorceress, with short curly blonde hair. She was wearing a thin white and gold dress, and she had a small amulet on her neck as well.

"Nice to see you again Rita. Glad you could make it." With that, Damien realized the woman in front of him was Margarita Laux-Antille. Triss spoke highly of her; she was one of the few former Lodge sorceresses who didn't always have an ulterior motive.

"You as well Triss."

"And yes, Fringilla has shown that…tendency. I'm simply staking my ground, so to speak." Triss said, as she quickly nudged Damien, who was staring deeply at Margarita's body.  _Dandelion's tales are true,_ he thought to himself _, a figure marveling the likeness of goddesses._

Margarita blushed and winked at him, before walking away. Triss' eyes flared with envy. Damien decided he needed to make it up to Triss. With that, he moved right next to her, laid his chin on her shoulder, and whispered into her ear, "But why would I care about a likeness when I can have the real thing." With that, he kissed Triss on the cheek, and she blushed, smiling.

The two split off, each engaging different guests as they trickled in. Damien was resting on a ledge when yet another sorceress walked up to him.

"So this is the witcher that Triss spoke of. I must say, I can't understand my colleagues' fascination with your profession." With that, Damien turned to see none other than Philippa Eilhart. Her eyes had healed, but there remained scars on either side of her eyelids.

"Glad to make acquaintances, Lady Eilhart." She raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, and you're already more respectful then Geralt ever was." He smiled at that remark.

"I may not be as skilled at monster slaying, and I may not have saved the world, but I'd dare say I've spent more time in high company, and know how to treat myself right." He smiled, as he took a glass of champagne from a page and sipped it.

Philippa looked over the crowd. "But much like Geralt, you'd like to believe you are neutral, correct? That in this meeting of mages of the North and South, you are our arbiter, the one who can see beyond borders." Damien followed her glance, and saw that all of the mages had arrived. Most of the Northern Kingdoms were represented, but it was overwhelmingly Kovir and Nilfgaard amulets in the sea of doublets, gowns, and dresses.

"I'd like to believe that I am for the cause of peace, Miss Eilhart." With that, she chuckled.

"And I'd like to believe that the Emperor has graced me with freedom and wants nothing but my well-being. But fortunately, I'm not one for such foolish thoughts. Look at this crowd Damien. You may claim you have no cause, but they see a clearly marked stake on your head." With that, Philippa looked to the other side of the room, to see Francesca Findabair, who was speaking with Triss. Every once in a while, Triss would glance back at where Damien was standing.

"To me, to everyone here, you have declared your allegiance. It's only a matter of time before you're going to be forced to make a decision, pick a side. At least Geralt had the decency to not be with one of the sides' leaders."

"Are you implying that Triss makes my decisions for me?"

Philippa's eyes sparkled with intrigue as she looked to the witcher. "I'm not implying it, witcher. I know it."

"If so, then why bother speaking with me at all? I'm just a lowly mutt to you, an ever obedient sheep. You should be conversing with my shepherd, not bothering yourself with the flock." Damien knew he was letting his emotions get the better of him, but he didn't really care. He was not going to let such words stand alone. He resented the implication that he was just Triss' plaything.

Philippa smiled wickedly. "You misunderstand me witcher. I don't care for the wily and uncontrollable commander. I care about the able bodied ones who suffer beneath. The ever noble servants who deserve oh so much better." With that Philippa moved close to Damien's body, and her breath could be felt on his neck, her breasts brushing against his chest. "Consider it, will you?" With that, she winked, and lightly dragged her hand against his abdomen before walking off. He turned to watch her leave, her hips swaying rather noticeably in her tight blue dress.

"Ahem."  _Fuck me,_ Damien thought to himself, as he turned to see Triss standing behind him. Her arms were crossed, and she was clearly annoyed. Damien wanted to defend himself, but Triss interrupted him before he could.

"Spare me it. Please. I know what she was doing, but it doesn't change the fact that it annoys me. I told you to be careful around some of these women, they're highly-" Triss' little monologue was cut short when Damien reached in and kissed her. She was surprised at first, but reciprocated, and it drew a fair bit of attention before they pulled away.

"That…was nice. Thank you." Triss blushed, staring into Damien's eyes.

"Of course. The others should know that this witcher is neither free nor available." Triss smiled to that, kissed him again, and took his hand into hers, as they headed off to speak with some of the other guests.

**That night…**

Damien struggled to open the door to their suite with his key. Normally, it would be a problem, and it wasn't as if he was drunk.

He just wasn't accustomed to having a beautiful sorceress clinging to his front as he tried to open the door. Triss had wrapped her legs around his hips, her arms around her neck, her red hair splashed across his face as he kissed her neck while attempting to open the door. After some struggling, he got it open, entered the room, and locked the door behind them as they closed it.

Triss let go as they hovered over the bed, laying out spread eagle, with Damien hovering over her. He got up onto the bed, kissing every inch of her body as he made his way up to her cherry red lips, still wet from the last time he kissed her, only moments earlier.

They tore each other's clothes off in a frenzy of madness, eagerly groping and grabbing at each other's' bodies. They both knew the other's features to the letter. Damien could trace Triss' hairline scar all the way through the valley of her breasts. Triss knew every bruise, every scar, every mark that decorated Damien's chiseled chest.

The love they made was passionate, energetic, fueled by the flames of a night full of jealousy and longing. Every look another woman had given Damien made Triss ride him that much harder, every insult Damien has sustained made him kiss her that much harder.

After their forth bout in about three hours, Damien took a breather and went out onto the balcony of their suite wearing only his underwear. Triss joined him a few minutes later, wearing a light pink nightgown, and as far as Damien could tell, nothing else. He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

"I love you, Triss." He said, after losing himself in Triss' eyes. She beamed, her eyes wide open.

"I love you too, Damien."

**The next day…**

Damien felt as if he was going to pass out. The lectures some of these mages were giving were so dreadfully boring they made  _Ghouls and Alghouls_  seem like fisstech.

The mages had congregated in a central hall, an auditorium of sorts, located outside of the royal palace, by the local academy. It was not normally meant for a great deal of people, but fortunately there weren't too many mages. As it was a conference for mages, they were all presenting their work and their recent findings. Triss, who was seated a row down from him, was watching with great intensity as their friend Sigi Buntz, the man who had sold them the tower they used as a personal alcove, went on for what seemed like ages about incredibly complex sensation perception charms.

The row in front of Damien sat only a few individuals; people like Triss and the other Lodge sorceresses, important alchemists and enchanters, the like. The row above seemed to be those right below the front row in importance, which was once again why Damien was not happy to be seated there.

Granted, he didn't want to be seated at all, but would have settled for a seat far off, in the back. Instead, he was, struggling to stay conscious, knowing those directly behind and above him could see him if he fell asleep. Lambert was seated next to him, and he seemed to be busy whittling something in his lap with his knife. He knew he shouldn't pay attention to that, as he apparently had to speak next, another move he wasn't happy about. But Triss insisted the mages would appreciate the work he had been doing with golems, and it was difficult to refuse those emerald eyes when they cut through your soul like a knife through butter.

Sigi had finished his presentation. It appeared Damien wasn't alone in being bored; most of the audience did not notice, and it was only after Keira and Triss began clapping that a small smattering of halfhearted applause came. Damien realized it was his turn. He quickly took a swig of Tawny Owl to give himself the energy to get through this presentation.

"Have fun." Lambert sneered quietly as Damien got up, taking his speech with him.

"Bite me." With that, Damien made his way down, and took his place in the center of the room. He looked out over the audience; most were still dozing off, but a decent number looked intrigued. A decent number looked offended, wondering what on earth a witcher could have to add to the world of magic. That look, the look of  _you don't belong here, you don't understand real magic_ , made Damien smile, encouraged him. He always liked a challenge. He lifted up his speech, only to decide at the last second to throw it on the floor, immediately drawing intrigued looks.

"Good day, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Damien of Oxenfurt. I am, by trade, a witcher. While I don't use magic on the scale that many of you do, I am often forced to deal with it, and its ramifications, both intended and unintended. Unlike most of my brethren, I have chosen to take an interest in the field of magic; I see the good it can do to the world, and I believe I can add a different perspective." Damien paced around the floor, approaching the side Sigi was on.

"My good friend Sigi Buntz spoke at great detail about the value of incredibly precise sensation perception charms, something that matters to most mages. In fact, perception charms of the like of which Mister Buntz spoke of are most often used to activate secondary or tertiary charms. Defensive ones. The most common ones? Golems." With that, Damien had drawn most of the mages attention, a fact that annoyed several of the mages who had preceded the witcher. It didn't help the man had a natural cadence and a fluid tone, unlike some of the more bookish sorcerers who had gone before him.

It also didn't help that many, many of the sorceresses found him attractive. He smiled upon noticing the attention of the mages.

"That is what I'm here to speak to all of you about; ways to make golems more efficient. As a witcher, I've dealt with my fair share of errant mages and mage hideouts. Golems and other elementals are the most common form of defense I've ever encountered, a statement mirrored by my fellow brother witcher Lambert." With that, he motioned to Lambert, who looked up quickly from his whittling to wave to the audience, producing a wave of giggling from some of the younger sorceresses.

"The issue with golems, and elementals in general, is that they cannot act on their own, and for perfectly good reason. However, that means their actions, to the T, must be taught. And I can speak from personal experience, many of you in this room can barely hold a sword, let alone train someone else." That produced more laughter, from some of young sorcerers Damien had been giving sword lessons to.

"So I decided to see if there was anything I could do. My good friend and mentor Master Fendar has already spoken about the expedition to the elven ruins in Poviss. While he focused on rare artifact collection, I'd like to focus on something I discovered during that expedition: instructions on creating responsive golems." The room took a collective second to ponder on Damien's words.

"The work I discovered, combined with what I've done since, has allowed me to potentially revolutionize the field of golemancy. Rather than a focus on the brute, on the raw power, I propose a system that uses pointed strikes, adaptive posture, and a new standard for teaching golems." Just about everyone in the room was watching him intently. Damien looked to Triss, motioning to her. She understood what he meant, and got up.

"However, rather than simply tell you how it works, I'd rather show you. Guards!" With that, Damien looked to the entrance of the auditorium, and two soldiers of the Koviri Chargers, wearing full chainmail and carrying tower shields in one hand and scimitars in the other, entered. Triss moved out of her seat as well.

"I'd like to also introduce my lovely associate and companion, Miss Triss Merigold, who will be assisting me in this demonstration." With that, Triss turned to the audience, bowed, and then turned to the wall to the left of Damien. She broke the illusion that made it, and revealed a large rock golem, about eight feet tall. She guided the golem into the center of the room, keeping it steady. The audience was going crazy. Many were moving out of the way, but many were moving in closer to get a better look. It was easily the most interesting presentation so far.

"Right there darling. Thank you." Triss broke her bond, and Damien immediately contained the beast with Axii. He moved back several steps, and the guards moved forward. They readied their blades, and Damien looked to Triss again. She nodded after putting herself in a better casting position, and when Damien released the golem, she cast a containment shield around the golem and the guards, one that would allow people through but not golems. As a defensive measure, Damien drew his silver sword as well.

The guards took either side of the golem, shields raised over their heads, angled to deflect an attack. To the surprise of the audience, the golem did not charge at the guards; it first paced around, studying their movements with great precision. It waited, its arms crossed in front of it in a protective stance, until the guard on its right slashed at it, spinning around in the process. Rather than simply take the hit, the golem backed away, dodging the strike completely, and responding with a quick strike to the shield. The hit pushed the guard back, disorienting him, allowing the golem to focus on the other guard. The guard ducked, rolled and struck the golem's other leg; the golem took the hit, but then countered with an incredibly accurate shoulder strike that knocked the soldier to the floor, causing him to drop his sword. The golem went in for another strike, and the soldier raised his shield.

The sound that followed was deafening; the golem shattered the shield and stumbled back, disoriented from the shockwave. The soldier to his right took that opportunity to lung at the golem, but the golem parried the strike with its right arm and slammed the soldier's legs with its left arm, knocking him down as well, with his back to the golem. Damien knew it the man was in danger, and rolled right next to him, as the golem came in with both arms for a final strike.

Damien managed to cast Quen before the golem's arms came down, and the explosion of his shield knocked the golem back, allowing him to take control of it again with Axii. Triss knew she should help, and dispelled the shield and took control of the golem, guiding it back to its containment chamber.

Damien helped the two soldiers back up, as they thanked him for saving them, and they took a collective bow, and the audience erupted in cheers and applause. The soldiers took their leave, Damien put away his sword, and Triss returned to her seat, pleased the display had gone mostly to plan.

Although he was a little shaken up by the near death experience they had encountered, he knew they had done it. He smiled at Triss as he concluded his presentation.

"As you could all see, the golem showed the ability to detect strategies, counter strikes made by opponents, and effectively parry and block without exposing its weaknesses. While it still needs to be perfected, it's clear we stand on the future of golemancy, ladies and gentlemen." With that, he took a bow and picked up what remained of his speech from the floor. The audience began applauding again, and Triss beamed and Damien as he returned to his seat.

**That night…**

Damien was sitting by the fireplace in their room, oiling his sword. His armor lay on a rack nearby, and he was wearing only loose pants and underwear, preferring the feel of the occasional breeze against his skin. He was lost in thought as he watched the flames dance around the logs when Triss returned. Fendar had pulled her aside as they were heading back, and as a result, he had been waiting for her to return.

She marched in, clearly annoyed. She went to one of her bags and removed a map of the Northern Kingdoms that she then placed on the bed. Damien realized something was up, so he went over to investigate.

"You okay, Triss? You seem tense." He said, as she stared intensely at the map, attempting to gauge travel times for different routes in Kovir and Redania. He came up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. She flinched at first, but relented.

_You wouldn't fucking believe Damien._ "Tense doesn't even begin to explain how I feel. I had hoped the game of kings and thrones would end with Nilfgaard's victory, but it only seems to get worse. Relationships between Kovir and Nilfgaard are souring. It is quickly becoming obvious that the Black Ones need us more than we need them; the Koviri navy is more than capable of keeping the Gulf safe, and we have good relations with the Skelligers. But Nilfgaard desperately needs our constant supply of gold, silver, and other rare metals to run their factories. Add in the fact that Philippa told me she has reason to believe the Redanian nationalist groups in the Nimnar valley, the Arcsea, and Jamurlak are receiving arms and funding from outsiders and you start to see why I am so stressed out."

Damien looked at the map in front of him. The regions she was describing marked everything north of the Buine and the Nimnar in contention. If Kovir were to do something…

"Any attempt at occupation from Kovir would be ridiculous. Regardless of diplomatic precedence, it would leave a massive northern flank for the Hengfors League to attack, and the empire has the coin to persuade King Neidamir, right?" That was when Triss looked right at Damien.

"And that's where the problem is. King Neidamir has been barely able to keep his lords and the companies in check for the last few decades, but he managed. But things have changed. The man grows old and with it just about everyone is sick of him. Both our spies and Nilfgaard's report there being a plot to assassinate him." Damien was going to respond, but before he could, Triss finished. "And neither intend to intervene." Damien paused, thinking about what had been said.

"Kovir thinks Hengfors will collapse without a leader, and Nilfgaard thinks the companies will have free reign to attack their closest and wealthiest neighbor." Triss nodded slowly.

Damien looked away, before looking back to the map. "I won't lie, I don't like not knowing who's right."

"You are hardly in the minority there, Damien."

_End of Chapter Twelve_

_Author's Note: So, we have reached the end of Act II; Act I was the setup of Triss and Damien's relationship, Act II is the initial phase of their relationship. Almost like a 'honeymoon' stage of sorts. Act III, which will be the final act, is guided by one major story arc, and will feature the real test of Triss and Damien's relationship. I know it sounds mega-cliché, but will they make it, or will something and/or someone break them apart? You guys will see!_

_An updated list of references, since the last update: How to Avoid Huge Ships, Remembrance of Things Past, James Bond, and To Pimp a Butterfly._

_And finally, I will be moving out to college in the coming weeks. That, mixed with the fact the next story arc is going to be very particular with certain details and has required me to do a lot of research for the last few weeks in preparation, means I might not be able to manage the 2-3 day update timeframe I've managed up to now. Don't worry, I haven't given up; quite the opposite. I'm determined to see this to the end._


	13. Blades of Belleteyn

Chapter Thirteen: The Blades of Belleteyn

 

_Night of Belleteyn 1275, eight months later_

_Ghelibol, Redania, Empire of Nilfgaard_

_Nimnar Inn_

            “And the winner is, Damien of Oxenfurt!” The bookkeeper announced, as the contestant lay passed out on the floor after taking a well-placed uppercut to the jaw. The bookkeeper lifted up Damien’s hand in celebration, and the people of the inn cheered. Damien received his share of the winning, a cool eighty crowns, and headed back to his table by the window as he put his armor back on. He sat down, across from the man he had been talking with previously.

 

            “Well fought witcher. You participate in fist fights often?” the man asked, looking up from his notes that he had been perusing during the fight.

 

            “Often enough. Good way to earn easy coin. What more could a witcher ask for?” The witcher smirked.

 

            “Is that all you need, witcher? Coin?” Damien’s smirk vanished at that remark, and his eyes flared.

 

            “Do you have something you would like to say to my face, Dorregaray?” Damien laid back in his seat, not in a good mood from his remark. He ordered another mug of lager.

 

            “I just feel the Damien who has been helping me out for the last few days is not the Damien I met eight months ago in Lan Exeter.” With that, Damien looked directly at the mage’s eyes. The man didn’t look like he was trying to offend, but as if he wanted to help.

 

            “Maybe it’s because the Damien you met in Lan Exeter did not know certain things that the Damien in Ghelibol right now does. I have the suspicion that can change people’s attitudes. Besides, why does it matter to you? I’m just a witcher aren’t I? I get instructions, I follow them, I get paid. End of story. No attachments, no emotions. Thinking otherwise is foolish.”

 

            “See, I know for a fact that is a lie,” Damien’s right eyebrow raised in response to that. “Because I have a hard time believing a witcher would care about protecting rare species of deer from wolves if he didn’t have an ulterior motive. Especially when there are a dozen other contracts in this city that pay twice as well.”

 

            Damien shrugged. “Maybe I appreciate conservation efforts more than my comrades do.” He looked at his nails, avoiding Dorregaray’s glare.

 

            “Perhaps that was the problem. You forgot that mages can read minds, and thus gave away-”

 

            “My deepest apologies for believing I deserve the privacy of my own thoughts, Dorregaray. I wasn’t aware that being a mage allowed you free access to other’s minds. Maybe if you lot avoided such actions people would trust you more.” Silence filled the table. Damien felt bad for lashing out, but he felt it was unfair that Dorregaray was making this his fault.

 

            “My apologies Damien. You are right in that regard; we mages have the tendency to pry where we have no right, a habit that dies hard, even for those who trust the person they are talking to.”

 

            “Thank you.” With that, the serving girl can with more lager for Damien, who proceeded to drink most of the mug in a single gulp.

 

            “Is this your plan? To wander the world, fighting for the sake of coin, taking odd jobs, and drinking yourself into a stupor every night to wash away the pain?”

 

            “You’d have me go back and apologize for being upset at being used?” Damien leaned in. “I know you mages have no respect for simpletons like myself, but that’s low.”

 

            “Would you quit putting words in my mouth, dammit? I wish to help you because I think you are a good person. I know you want the best for the world and I appreciate that. It’s a sentiment few of my fellow mages share.” Dorregaray looked around before leaning in as well. “You know this land just as well if not better than I do. Do you honestly believe that you can hide here? That you can avoid the conflict that is inevitable? A Nilfgaardian regiment occupies Blaviken. The garrison in this city alone is one hundred, not to mention the one in Mirt. Twenty five hundred men from the Alba Division guard the land north of the Buine. Northern Redania wants Nordling rule, and they are willing to fight for it. I know it. You know it. Nilfgaard knows it. Is it really her fault that she wants you on her side when the fight starts?”

 

            “I’m one of the last people in the world who would tell you that the Nilfgaardians are the answer. I want them gone as much as everyone else. But sinking to their level is disgusting to me, and I have a right to be disgusted. I also have a right to be offended when she tried to make my decisions for me. I’m not going to be her slave, who she can order around to do tasks that do nothing but benefit her.”

 

            “And so you decided to communicate that by throwing a temper tantrum and leaving like a child, rather than try to communicate your problems with your partner?”

 

            “I tried to communicate my problems-”

 

            “Being passive aggressive and bitchy is not called communicating.” Damien glared at him, and finished his drink.

 

            Dorregaray finished his glass of cow’s milk, and got up. “Come now, it’s getting late. We must return to my study. We have important things to do tomorrow.” Damien groaned but got up. They paid their tab and headed off into the night streets of Ghelibol.

 

            Dorregaray was right. The city was on edge. Fights broke out daily, and there were entire sections of the city the Black One’s never entered. It was pretty commonly known that the city was the de facto capital of the numerous nationalist groups spread across Redania. As long as sympathizers to their cause ran the city, there was nothing the Black One’s could do, except put it under martial law the way Blaviken was. For now, though, no one was going to advocate that.

 

            Perhaps they should have.

 

            Damien and Dorregaray were simply walking down the street to the other side of the city, where Dorregaray had a room in the other inn. However, in order to cross, they needed to pass through the main city square.

 

            And the main city square was full of people. Young, old, male, female, human, nonhuman. They didn’t all get along with each other, but there was one thing that united them all.

 

            They were furious.

 

            The mob had gathered around a speaker who was standing on top of some crates. The men around him were brandishing blades of all kinds, and many in the crowd were wielding machetes or knifes or pitchforks.

 

            “Tonight, we show the Black Ones who’s in charge! Tonight, we take back our city!” With that, the man took a torch and started marching off in the direction of the main city garrison. The mob was massive, easily several hundred people, and they all began marching with their leader.

           

            Damien and Dorregaray knew this was not going to end well, so they decided to see what was going to happen and followed the crowd.

 

            The mob made their way to the outside the garrison, which had caught wind of what was happening and blockaded the entrance gate with wooden barricades. Close to a dozen archers had taken up positions on the battlements on the garrison, and the commander looked down to the angry mob.

 

            “Step one foot closer and die, Nordling.” With that, the commander spit on the mob leader. The spitball hit him in the face, causing him to step back out of disgust. After wiping his face off, however, he responded.

 

            “You die first, bitch!” With that, the mob charged at the entrance. The archers fired into the crowd, but it did nothing. The crowd began throwing torches onto the battlements, lighting parts of the garrison aflame. Damien and Dorregaray, dozens of feet away from the garrison, watched in horror as the mob stormed the garrison.

 

            The mob was merciless. They took no prisoners, spared no survivors. Every single soldier in the garrison was stabbed or burned or trampled or cut in two. When it was all said and done, the mob leader, badly injured, carried the garrison commander’s head on a spike and placed it outside of the entrance.

 

            “Let them remember this night! The night Ghelibol freed itself from the Black One’s rule!” The mob, spread out and thinned from the attack, responded with as much fervor as before.

 

            “You were right Dorregaray. They do want independence.”

 

            “Indeed. I just wasn’t expecting it so soon.”

 

**One week later…**

_May 7 th, 1275_

_Talgar, Kingdom of Kovir and Poviss_

_Joint Camp of the 1 st and 2nd Koviri Armies_

            Triss laid her back against the pole that held up the tent. She looked down the hill, past all of the other army tents, to see the Braa River, as rapid and vicious as ever. The day was clear, the sun was a few hours from midday, and the mood in the encampment was infectious.

 

            She had read the latest reports that had come in. Everything was going to plan. On the night of Belleteyn, Koviri backed rebels seized Ghelibol and Cinfrid, and King Neidamir was assassinated in his sleep. The next day, five thousand soldiers of the 3rd Koviri Army marched through Benda Pass in Malleor, escorting an envoy which held more than three hundred thousand crowns in bribes and payments. In just four days of fighting and negotiations, every lord in the East March and every company in Hengfors belonged to Kovir.

           

            While that was happening, Field Marshal Frederick Ostagard and General Phillip Hori had raised the 1st and 2nd Koviri Armies, a combined force of over twenty thousand men, and here they were, encamped on the Koviri side of the Braa River.

 

            The plan from here? The 3rd Army, under the command of Adam Pragnatt, formerly of the Free Company, would lead the armies of Hengfors, around thirty five hundred, over the Mountains of Milan. They would move south and meet up with the Kaedwenian army in Ban Glean, and make a move on Upper Aedirn, further separating the Nilfgaardian response.

 

            The 1st and 2nd Armies would split up, one taking the western side of Redania, the other taking the eastern side. They would drive down to the Buine River, and if possible, the Rogge River. From there, negotiations could begin.

 

            Everything was moving exactly like they had expected. The Alba Division in the Arcsea and Jamurlak would be no match for the Koviri Chargers, and the only other large force was located hundreds of leagues south, in Tretogor.

 

            Triss smiled. There was nothing that could make this moment better. Well, except for…

 

            She frowned. _The reports mentioned Damien might have been in Ghelibol during the assault, but nothing about if he made it out or not._ She cursed to herself. _Why didn’t he listen to me? He could have been safe here, protected by an army and a mountain of gold!_

            She knew that Damien had the right to be upset, but she felt he had gone too far. It wasn’t fair, in her opinion, for him to just abandon her like that…

            

**Seven months earlier…**

 

_October 1 st, 1274_

_Lan Exeter, Kingdom of Kovir and Poviss_

_Royal Palace_

            Damien pushed open the door to their suite, charging in, furious. He immediately starting picking up his things and throwing them in his bags. Triss followed him right into the room, looking equally furious.

 

            “Goddamnit Damien, listen to me!” She screamed, getting in Damien’s way as he started throwing his clothes, some still drying from being washed, into a bag.

 

            “I’ve heard enough of your bullshit and lies, Triss. I don’t need anymore.”

 

            “Oh yeah? And dealing with your snide comments and passive aggressive tone for the last few weeks has had me jumping out of my clothing, let me tell you!” With that, Damien finished putting his clothes away and started taking some of his other things.

 

            “Why would it matter? It’s not like I have to tell you how I feel. You’ll just read my mind anyway!” Triss paused, hurt at his accusation, but knowing in her heart he was right. She did have a habit of doing that, more so recently than ever before. She had despised how often people like Yen did it to others, but here she was, doing the same thing.

 

            Damien turned to Triss, his cat eyes glowing with anger. “You know Triss, I wouldn’t have minded the occasional breach of privacy. I wouldn’t have even minded you keeping state secrets from me; you’re the advisor, not me. But making me do your dirty work and pretending it’s just a small favor? Making me go on recruitment trips that were actually meant to help plot war without telling me?”

 

            Triss’ emerald eyes were shaken. She knew she had hurt Damien deeply, and she didn’t know what to say. She opened her mouth to respond, but Damien kept going.

 

            “Triss, do you have any idea how much harassment I get from others because of you? How many people think I’m just your slave, your mindless mercenary who does your dirty work for you? I thought they were wrong. Imagine my surprise when I realized I was the blobtit, not them.” His words cut through Triss, not simply because they were mean, but because they were true. She had used Damien without his knowledge. She had abused his trust.

 

            “Damien, I did it for your safety. As long as you work with me, stay in the King’s good graces-”

 

            “I’ll what? Be allowed to warm your bed for you every night? Have the privilege of being strung along with sweet words and false promises, like everyone before me?” That statement made Triss see red.

 

            “What does that mean? Do you think that’s all I care about? Sex?”

 

            “That’s all you care about in me, apparently. Too noble to pay me in coin, so you pay me in cunt instead.” With that, Triss’ mouth went agape. She couldn’t believe he would say such a thing. Insinuating she was no better than a common whore, selling herself for favors? She was about to scream, when she noticed something.

 

            “Damien, where is Vesemir’s medallion?” She hadn’t seen him pack it, and she knew he kept it on him. Damien looked away, and the room got eerily quiet.

 

            “Answer the question Damien.” Her voice was seething.

 

            He looked to the floor, softly responding. “Kaer Morhen.”

 

            Her mind was flooded with questions. _When did he go to Kaer Morhen? Why? Where else did he go? Is that why he went to Aedd Gynvael?_ She was tempted to read his mind, but decided to hold back. She decided to try to ask.

 

            “Why did you hide that from me?” The words were slow in leaving her mouth.

 

            Damien swallowed, long and hard. She didn’t have to read his mind to know what he was going to say.

 

            “Because I thought it was better if you didn’t know.” He croaked, saying the exact thing Triss had said to him minutes earlier in her office when he confronted her about the lies. The room got silent, and the two could not look at each other. Damien finished packing his stuff, and approached the door. Triss was looking down, unaware of what to say.

 

            “Damien…if you want…we can arrange some form of payment…for you to stay with the Corps…” Triss said, stifling back tears, realizing that they both had been unable to trust the other, and clearly needed to be apart.

 

            “Sorry Triss. You’re what kept me here, with the Corps. Maybe someday our paths will cross again.” With that, he threw his stuff over his back and walked out the door. Triss wanted to chase after him, to beg him to stay, but her legs were locked. She didn’t know what to say, what to think. Instead, she sat down on the bed, which still smelled like him, which still had his black hair on it, and cried.

 

            And as Damien marched down to the canals and took a boat to the stables by the outside gate, onlookers could have sworn he had tears running down his cheeks as well.

 

_End of Chapter Thirteen_


	14. The Black Sun Also Sets

Chapter Fourteen: The Black Sun Also Sets

 

_June 1 st, 1275_

_Blaviken, Redania, Empire of Nilfgaard_

_Occupied by the Kingdom of Kovir and Poviss_

_1 st Koviri Army Camp_

            With daybreak, the army broke camp and began to march east to face their ultimate match. Triss rode in the center, with two dozen other mages from the Corps, as they mentally readied themselves for the fight that could decide everything.

 

            The Koviri armies had been like lightning in the last month. Their scouts knew the movements of every enemy force, their shock infantry so devastating that no battle had lasted more than a few short hours. After just a single month of hostilities, not a single Nilfgaardian banner flew north of the Buine or Nimnar River. Their newly designed siege engines, built off of Hattori’s designs, had fell Blaviken in a single day.

 

            The 1st Army was about eighty-five hundred strong; they had taken next to no casualties, but they had left numerous battalions behind to occupy the Arcsea in their stead, as they marched further south. So far, they had faced small groups, with little to no leadership. That was about to change.

 

            Emperor Emhyr himself was leading the Nilfgaardian force on the other side of the river. The force he commanded was estimated to be around fourteen to fifteen thousand. Scouts also reported that about two thousand troops held Roggeveen, and another five thousand held Tretogor. There were supposed to be more, but they had been split off; the joint Koviri/Kaedwenian army group had seized most of Upper Aedirn, and taken all but one of the fortresses in the region. As a result, more than ten thousand Nilfgaardian troops under the command of Grand Duke var Attre of Temeria had been ordered to retake Aedirn.

 

            If there was any opportunity to win the war, it was here. A decisive victory against Nilfgaard would allow them to postpone the offensive for a few months, allowing the trade embargo to truly set in. After that, it would only be a matter of time before Nilfgaard capitulated.

 

            The army made camp on their side of the river, and could see signs of a Nilfgaardian camp a few leagues on the other side. Tomorrow would be the day of reckoning.

 

            _Nilfgaard won’t know what’s coming for them._ Triss paced about her camp, going over plans with several of the other mages regarding defensive maneuvers and battle strategies.

 

            Everyone except for Fendar had head off for bed. The two consulted further over how to use the river to their advantage when they were interrupted.

 

            “Miss Merigold, Master Fendar, we need you. Now.” Beata had come into the tent, the look on her face was urgent, and so the duo followed the girl to the medical tent, which was almost completely empty except for one person. His armor was damaged, and he was covered in injuries. He seemed to be struggling for consciousness.

 

            And most importantly, for both Triss and Fendar, he had a silver griffin medallion around his neck.

 

            Triss rushed to Damien’s side, barely able to recognize him from all the blood on his face. Fendar quickly drew up a few potions and administered them to the witcher, who then fell unconscious.

 

            Triss waited nervously, sitting by him, listening to his slow and ragged breath. The medic claimed his heartrate was recovering, and his wounds were healing, but he had yet to awaken.

            He stayed in that state the whole night, and Triss stayed by his side through it all, holding his hand, waiting for him to wake. She fell asleep by his side, and was awoken by Fendar.

 

            “Triss, lass, we need to go. We have a battle to fight. Don’t worry, he’ll still be here when we return.”

 

            She looked at Fendar, and then back to Damien, stroking his hair. “He better be.” With that, she got up, ready to unleash her anger on the Nilfgaardians for hurting her…

 

            _What is he to me? Is he my lover? My friend? My companion?_

 

            She decided that was a question that would best answered after the battle.

 

***

            The battle began with light skirmishing from either side as small parties crossed the safer sections of the river in an attempt to disrupt enemy formations. Arrows were loosed on both sides, but the Nilfgaardian archer units were unable to do much damage; the Corps had perfected a strategy that relied on quick pooling of magic to block bulk arrow fire as it came in. The hours went on, and neither side had attempted a charge across the river.

 

            As it approached midday, however, the Nilfgaardians became more impatient, and began sending larger and larger groups across the river, only for them to driven back by quick arrow fire from the repeating crossbows Hattori had designed.

 

            At midday, Emhyr launched a massive assault; close to six thousand men charged across the river; the entire Vicovaro Brigade, most of the Impera Brigade, and the Nazairi Brigade drove through the shortest section of the river, hitting the main line of Koviri Spear Infantry. The spearmen fought bravely, but were overrun by the sheer number of heavy cavalry that had rode through. The line broke, and the Nilfgaardian line crossed the river, establishing a beachhead that would enable more divisions to cross.

 

            Triss and the Corps were assisting the 1st Poviss Division, the main heavy infantry regiment, in holding the center hill, but were being contested by the massive wave of Nilfgaardian cavalry. The losses both sides were taking were heavy, but the Black Ones had the numbers to keep going.

 

            The heavy infantry fought to the last man, refusing to give any ground, but could not stop the endless charges of the dozens of Nilfgaardian regiments. Only around a hundred remained at the top of the hill, and Emperor’s own force, the Impera Brigade, looked ten times that, as they reorganized for one last charge, rallying to the call and banner of the Emperor himself.

 

            Triss was exhausted, drained from stopping lightning strikes and fireballs and returning her own storms of fire to the enemy, and she could not hold out much longer. She and some of the other mages prepared for the worst as they readied another chain lightning bolt, certain this was the last spell they could cast.

 

            _We won’t fail. I won’t fail. This won’t be a Sodden. I won’t be the Fourteenth on the Hill. I have someone to return to._ With that, Triss channeled all the energy she had, and together with the other mages, hit the center line with a massive chain lightning bolt, taking close to a hundred down in the process. Hundreds more remained however, and the heavy infantry locked shields, preparing for the worst as the Impera Brigade began charging up the hill. But before they could get to the top, a horn trumpeted.

 

            Over a thousand riders of the Koviri Chargers rode in from the left, smashing the Impera Brigade, decimating their line and driving them back. The Emperor himself, who was in the center of the line, was forcibly dismounted. The Chargers left no survivors, cutting down every man who retreated as the brigade retreated to the Buine.

 

            The few who escaped began to sound the horn of retreat, as the emperor himself had been slain. They had underestimated the Chargers ability to make it to the center line, and as a result, had been obliterated. The few remaining Nilfgaardian units on the Koviri side of the river were cut down as they tried to retreat.

 

            Triss breathed a sigh of relief, until she spotted something that troubled her. An enemy mage was fighting viciously by the riverside, and she wasn’t sure why. She took out her spyglass to see who it was.

 

            It was none other than Philippa Eilhart, who was blasting men down right and left. Only one man stood in her way. Damien. He charged the sorceress head on, getting her knee as she dodged his strike. She fell to the floor in a howl, and blasted the witcher against a tree. She looked around, realizing the Nilfgaardian army was retreating, and ran over to the dazed witcher, and teleported the two of them out of the way of more Koviri Chargers.

 

            _No…it can’t be…she can’t have taken him prisoner…NO!_ Triss had no energy left in her, and softly whispered his name before passing out on the bloodstained grass.

 

***

            When Triss came to, she was being escorted to the medical ward. She stayed there to recover her energy before heading back to her tent. When she arrived to it, however, she found a page who was to escort her to the field marshal’s tent. She followed dutifully, though a tad bit dazed.

 

            “Ah, there you are Miss Merigold.” Field Marshal Frederick was holding a meeting with all the commanders, and many people she knew, including Master Fendar, were in attendance. She ambled to an open spot by the war table as the man began.

 

            “This victory will go down in history, right next to Sodden Hill and Brenna. Nilfgaard hasn’t suffered a defeat this significant in nearly a decade. We count around three thousand dead in our own ranks, a significant sum, if we discount the close to seven to eight thousand estimated dead on the Nilfgaardian side.” Even Triss, who was barely able to focus, knew how important that was. The commanders all clapped in response to this.

 

            “And if that wasn’t enough, we have proof that the Koviri Chargers were able to cut down the Emperor himself. The morale blow this will deal is unimaginable. It is likely that we can make it to the Pontar before the summer ends. Tell your men to celebrate. They’ve earned it.” With that, the people in the tent started cheering. All, except for Triss, who had an empty stare. Everyone filed out of the Field Marshal’s tent, except for Triss. Fendar noticed something was up, and hung back.

 

            “Triss, are you okay?” His question drew the attention of the field marshal, who hadn’t even noticed that Triss was still there. He turned, getting worried.

 

            Her voice was barely audible, and she shook ever so slightly. “Damien…”

 

            Frederick lit up. “The witcher? Oh he’s a right godsend that one. Saved some of my scouts last night from Nilfgaardian raiders. I figured he would be in bed for weeks, but I saw him on the field. Did something happen to him?”

 

            “They…they took him.” She said, her eyes flaring with anger.

 

            “The Black Ones? How?” Fendar asked, surprised.

 

            “He was fighting Philippa…she knocked him out and teleported him somewhere else.”

 

            The field marshal looked sullen. “That’s a shame Miss Merigold, but don’t worry. The Nilfgaardian army will be dust by the end of the month. We’ll recover the witcher.” The field marshal, not normally one to be so cheery, wasn’t going to let anything ruin his crowning accomplishment.

 

            _When I find that bitch…_

***

**The next day…**

 

_June 3 rd, 1275_

_Montecalvo Castle, Redania, Empire of Nilfgaard_

            Philippa had recovered from most of her injuries, but was still in a bad state. _Damn witcher’s blade, must have been coated with some poison._ Her leg was not healing as quickly as she was hoping.

 

            Granted, borderline nothing was going as she was hoping. The assault over the Buine had been a terrible mistake. The report she had just read from General Mellis-Stroke had confirmed her worst fears; the loss of the Emperor had crippled morale, and thousands had deserted in the aftermath.

 

            She walked over to her megascope, hoping to hear good news from her fellow associate. She activated it and contacted Fringilla.

 

            “Phil! It’s good to see you-, are you okay?” She asked, clearly surprised to see Philippa struggling to stand.

 

            “Battle injuries. They happen. But that’s not important. How is the eastern front?” Fringilla looked down at the question.

 

            “I’m not going to sugarcoat it, Phil. Bad. We got news of the defeat last night. The soldiers are angry and upset. We’ve been dealt numerous losses of our own and are struggling to hold on to Aedirn. Gulet is being sieged out by Kaedwen as we speak, and there’s talk the Koviri army will march on Vengerberg.”

 

            “How many men do you have in Vengerberg?”

 

            “About three thousand. The Grand Duke is in command of three thousand men in the Flotsam Forests, but he’s stuck in a cat and mouse game with the mercenary companies. Around seven hundred are protecting Gulet, and the rest are in Aldersberg. How bad was Buine?”

 

            “How bad? ‘Gilla we lost-”

 

            “I know we lost the Emperor, but how many others? Can you hold Redania?” Philippa looked away. She wasn’t sure, and her apprehension was worrying Fringilla.

 

            “Mellis-Stroke estimates we lost eight thousand on the field, and around two thousand more have deserted since. Half of the remaining men are still injured, and morale is at the bottom of the barrel.  We still have two thousand in Roggeveen, and another five thousand in Tretogor with Voorhis. Voorhis hasn’t budged though, and I doubt he will now. He’s got a throne to claim.”

 

            “So does var Attre.” That caused Philippa to turn her head. “var Attre?”

 

            Fringilla nodded. “He mentioned that his claim to the throne is stronger, as he’s been running Temeria for the last few years. He’s even willing to withdraw his army from Aedirn in order to fight for it.”

 

            “That bastard! He’d have us lose the war just-”

 

            “Phil, I don’t know what war you’re fighting, but the one I’m fighting seems lost to me. We don’t have the soldiers, the coin, or the resources to keep fighting for more than a few months, and that was with the Emperor alive. Right now, we are looking at civil war within the Empire. The Koviri embargo has emptied warehouses across the Empire and Emhyr knew that. He wanted a quick end to the war. We need negotiations soon or the soldiers we have left will munity.”

 

            “So what? We just let Kovir swallow up Redania and let Kaedwen take Aedirn?”

 

            “Do you have a better proposal? Or are you hiding an extra army group and a million florens in your bosom and you just didn’t have the decency to tell me?”

 

            Philippa glared daggers at Fringilla. “We’ll speak about this later.” With that, she ended the channel. She had a prisoner to torture.

 

            When she entered the chamber where the witcher was kept, she was surprised to see the guards had done a good job preparing him. He was wearing nothing but his underwear, and was bound to the wall by each limb, unable to move in the slightest. He stirred when he heard Philippa enter the room, awakening him from his attempt at sleep. He stared at her, the anger clear in his breath as he seethed.

 

            “You fucking bitch.” He spit at Philippa, and she barely dodged it.

 

            “The irony is delicious isn’t it? I am the one who should be afraid, who should be chained. Yet here I am, walking free, imprisoning someone who should be celebrating. Though, who do you have to celebrate with, witcher?” With that Philippa came up close to Damien, drawing a whip from the table behind her as she moved forward. She watched Damien’s fidgeting closely, smirking as he refused to make eye contact with her.

 

            “They’ll find you here Eilhart. Your days are numbered.”

 

            “As are yours, witcher.” With that, he raised an eyebrow.

 

            “You think you will intimidate me? Make me give up sensitive information? I won’t even try stopping you from reading my mind, you bitch. I have nothing to hide.”

 

            Philippa turned away from Damien and took several steps away. She could tell the witcher wasn’t even remotely worried for his own safety.

 

            “Interesting that a prisoner would be so forward,” she stated, sitting down on the table, once again facing him. “You think that will make me release you?”

 

            “I know why you will release me.”

 

            Philippa raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? And why is that?”

 

            Damien looked up from the ground, staring directly at sorceress as a massive grin emerged on his face. As he said his next words, he watched, and grinned even more, as he saw the blood leave Philippa’s face.

 

***

**Two days later…**

 

_June 5 th, 1275_

_Tretogor, Redania, Empire of Nilfgaard_

_Former Palace of the King_

_Royal Bedchambers_

            Voorhis laid against the balcony, overlooking the massive city as the moon rose. He tried to relax by watching the stars, but found it to be completely worthless. It failed in every way to keep him from his primary worries.

 

            _That good for nothing piece of shit_. Voorhis remembered that letter. Secret correspondence from a noble ally of Nilfgaard. Information on some of the movements and actions of Redanian nationalists. He knew not to be too trusting, but he had felt safe assuming Tancred was not a fool.

 

            Now he knew for certain the man wasn’t.

 

            The information Tancred had supplied had allowed Nilfgaard to keep Blaviken safe through the last year. Supposedly. After all, why would Tancred lie? Kovir and Kaedwen had historically had conflict; even if his accusations of Kaedweni support were inaccurate, it wouldn’t necessarily mean he was trying to deceive Voorhis. The man simply did not trust Kaedwen and would take the opportunity to help his largest trading partner in keeping the peace.

 

            But that was before the report from the Guild of Merchants in Novigrad on the state of trade in the Northern Kingdoms. The report that was whispered in every hall of every king, duke, and lord north of the Yaruga.

           

            Kovir didn’t need Nilfgaard. But Nilfgaard needed Kovir.

 

            Relations quickly soured, and distrust sowed. First there was the Council meeting, which went excellently. For Kovir.

 

            Then there was the royal celebration of the reestablishment of the Thyseen line. Which went excellently. For Kovir.

 

            And then there was Belleteyn. Which went excellently. For. Kovir.

 

            He had expected mobilization. But not on a thousand crowns would he have bet that Kovir would dare cross the Braa. At least not on the Nilfgaardian side.

 

            Everything had come to together. All the spy reports, all the strange trade ledgers, the odd visit, the secret letters. It all made sense. But by the time it had, it was too late. Blood had been shed.

 

            But the Emperor would solve it, surely. He had survived dozens of campaigns, his legions hundreds of battles. He had been the White Flame Dancing on the Graves of His Foes.

 

            He had been.

 

            And now, in Nilfgaard’s time of need, in its time of greatest urgency, Duke var Attre had the gall to start a succession crisis? Civil war when they were already fighting, and losing, a war on two fronts? Without trade, the guilds and companies back home would revolt. Further losses, from infighting no less, could risk everything Emhyr had fought so hard to claim. Twenty years and over a hundred thousand Nilfgaardian lives had gained them this land. They couldn’t lose it now. Not like this.

 

            _Not. Like. This._ With that, Voorhis headed back into his bedchamber, and out into the hallway. He has somewhere to be.

 

            And someone to question. Very, very carefully.

 

_End of Chapter Fourteen_


	15. All Hostile on the Western Front

Chapter Fifteen: All Hostile on the Western Front

 

_June 5 th, 1275, that night_

_Tretogor, Redania, Empire of Nilfgaard_

_Royal Prison_

           

            As Voorhis descended down the stairs to the lowest level of the prison, he motioned his guards to leave him. The massive steel doors that sealed the lowest cells opened, and he walked inside, forcefully.

 

            He moved through the dark and cold hallway, hearing the silence occasionally be broken by the screams of a tortured prisoner. But he did not care for any of those prisoners.

 

            He cared only for the man in room 394.

 

            The hallway winded on and on, leading him at last to the final room, guarded by several of Voorhis’ finest personal guards. They nodded upon seeing him, standing at attention and saluted their commander. He ordered them to stand at ease as they opened the door to the cell.

 

            The cell was dark, damp, illuminated only by the light of a torch on the wall. The room itself smelled atrocious, like blood and piss.

 

            The prisoner was in rags, chained to the wall. His matted black hair was a mess, still soaking wet. His chest was bare, covered in scars, old and new. There were welts across his arms and chest; the lashes had left their toll.

            It was time for Voorhis to begin. He picked up the wooden board that had the details the previous interrogator had left. He began reading off the grievances and their due punishments, waking his prisoner in the meanwhile.

 

            “Feigning neutrality in order to subvert blockade. Twenty lashes. Assaulting scout expedition. Thirty lashes. Killing scout expedition. Fifty lashes, ten rounds of drowning. Assisting the enemy in combat. Fifty lashes, twenty-five rounds of drowning.”

 

            The prisoner’s breath was the only constant in the room, besides the sound of the torch burning. “You happy now? You got what you wanted?” His voice was ragged, torn. He was in a great deal of pain but he was trying to hide it.

 

            Voorhis chuckled at the sight. “You witchers are an interesting lot. You think you can hide from society, that you can do as you please and then disappear. You are no different from all of your brethren I’ve ever encountered.”

 

            With that, Voorhis paced up next to the prisoner, coming close to his face, watching with great delight as he moved back, repulsed by the general’s sight. “But you came back. You ran away, you had the chance to leave, but you came back. Why?”

 

            The prisoner’s golden eyes were piercing as he replied. “Because I swore to help. And while I don’t agree with her methods, I do happen to agree with her motives.”

 

            Voorhis chuckled again. It was going to be an interesting night.

 

***

**Earlier that day…**

_Montecalvo Castle, Redania, Empire of Nilfgaard_

            She looked over the smoking remains of the balcony, over past the hills to the main road that connected the fortress to the rest of Redania; to Roggeveen, to Blaviken, to Novigrad.

 

            To Tretogor.

 

            _If only the clouds would be kind enough to clear up, I might even see an eagle banner from a fortress outside the capital._

            The clouds were not going to be kind to Triss Merigold. Fate, however, had shown her some decency.

            She turned back around to glance at her one time friend. Phillipa was chained in dimeritium shackles, with her knees on the floor and her mouth gagged to prevent her from shouting. That didn’t stop her from struggling underneath, squirming and attempting to yell through the gag.

 

            It certainly didn’t make Triss care for her plight any further.

 

            Triss saw Albert and several other mages come back up to top of the tower.

           

            “Nothing, Miss Merigold. He’s is definitely not here.” She nodded, her face still aggressive and emotive.

 

            “Remove the prisoner’s gag.” One of the guards next to the Nilfgaardian sorceress moved forward and removed her gag. She heaved for air, gasping and gasping for a solid minute. It made a smirk emerge on Triss’ face.

 

            Phillipa looked up to the redheaded sorceress. “This is how you treat me, Triss? After everything we’ve been through, after all we’ve-”

 

            “Whip her.” Phillipa didn’t have time to react as the other guard struck the witch across her back with his whip, shutting her up instantly. She looked down for a moment, and as she did so, Triss moved up to her, taking her chin in her hand, and creating a small fireball in her other hand.

 

            “Phil, I’m going to ask you some questions. If you don’t answer them truthfully, I’m going to assume that you did the worst to him and do the same to you. That seems fair, doesn’t it?” Phillipa swallowed her spit. Normally, she wasn’t the type of woman who could be easily intimidated. But something about Triss was throwing her off, making it difficult for her to be nonchalant and aloof. She knew this mattered to Triss, and that she would make her pay if she had fucked up. She nodded, very slowly, her eyes full of fear.

 

            Triss smiled wickedly. “Very well. Question number one. Where did you send Damien of Oxenfurt?”

 

            Phillipa paused, knowing she had to be very careful answering this question. “To Voorhis. In Tretogor.” She whispered it as quietly as she could, but it was as if the winds had silenced in that moment to ensure that only her voice could be heard.  

 

            Triss let go of her face, and moved away from her. She refused to look directly at her, and instead simply turned her head towards her as she followed up. “When did you do this?”

 

            “Yesterday morning.” Triss knew immediately that they were too late; if Damien had been transferred the day before, they were a day and a half behind. He had probably made it to Tretogor this morning, meaning that he would be guarded very closely.

 

            “And why did you send him there?”

 

            “He told he had set off a marking runestone when he arrived here, ensuring that you would be able I brought him here. I had to get him to somewhere you couldn’t catch him, so I did. How does that feel, to have come all this way, raised this whole party only to fail-” Philippa’s bitter rant was cut short when Triss blasted her with wind, slamming her into the floor.

 

            Triss had learned of the runestone from the medic; supposedly, Damien had been able to recover early on in the battle, and demanded to go fight. The medic knew it was a bad idea, so she gave him a runestone to set off if anything bad should happen, so they could locate him.

 

            He did set it off, only the signal was traced to Montecalvo. Triss had gathered a force and assaulted the keep, overwhelming Phillipa and her guards. What she didn’t know, however, was that Damien had told her about the stone.

 

            “Why did he tell you about the stone?” She said, her teeth gritted together.

 

            “Because…” Phillipa trailed off before finishing her sentence, causing Triss to turn.

 

            “Why. Did. He. Tell. You.”

 

            “He wanted me to release him. He thought it would scare me into releasing him. It didn’t. So there. Your toy was too stuck up for his own good, thought he could outsmart me. Instead I sent him to Voorhis, who will probably treat him significantly worse than I was ever planning on.”

 

            Triss turned away again. It couldn’t be that simple. Damien should have, must have known Phillipa would just send him somewhere better defended. Surely. If he didn’t, it was a move uncharacteristic of the man she knew. If he did….

 

            _What in the name of the gods was he planning? Did he want to meet Voorhis? Does he know something I don’t? In fact, why am I bothering? He evidently doesn’t want to be with me anymore, otherwise he would have waited. To think I was ready to forgive him, to beg for him to come back, to tell him I’ve changed. Fucking bastard._

***

_June 30 th, 1275_

_Vengerberg, Aedirn, Empire of Nilfgaard_

_Main Palace_

            Fringilla read what, in her mind, would most likely be the last report she would see for a while, perhaps even a lifetime. Vengerberg had been under close siege for about a fortnight, and the scouts reported mobilization near the main gates. Even with the anticipation, the morale was abysmal. The loss of Gulet and the defeat at the Battle of the Pontar Fork had ensured that almost all of Aedirn to Dol Blathanna was in Koviri and Kaedweni hands.

 

            Only Vengerberg and Aldersberg south of it remained. The Grand Duke had basically ceded the Flotsam Forests to the mercenary companies, having withdrawn his forces back into Temeria. Without the extra front, the armies made quick work of Nilfgaard.

 

            The assault was obviously going to begin shortly, and the garrison was hopelessly undermanned and on the breaking point of surrender. Fringilla had read the reports regarding the Western Front. The news was abysmal.

 

            After the Battle of the Buine, as it was referred to thereafter, Nilfgaard retreated back to Roggeveen, hoping to stop Kovir before the river crossing. In doing so, they ceded almost all of central Redania to Kovir, in the hopes it would overextend their lines and make it easier to drive them back.

 

            It didn’t. They remained organized, sieged the city, and in the end, got the support of the locals during their assault; the city locals opened some of the gates and actively fought the Nilfgaardian forces, obliterating their army. Next to no one wearing a black sun survived the assault.

 

            Mellis-Stroke himself was killed in the assault, leaving Voorhis the only high ranking commander on the Western Front for Nilfgaard. For now, the Rogge River had become a de facto ceasefire line. Voorhis had arranged several thousand men on the south side of the river, and Ostagard had done the same on the north side. Negotiations had begun, but they remained tense.

 

            And of course, Phillipa had been taken captive; Montecalvo was assaulted and burned to the ground.

 

            Fringilla knew what she had done. Her part in all of this. She could only hope to see some mercy, but she wasn’t going to hold out on it.

 

            _War is hell._

 

_End of Chapter Fifteen_


	16. Banners of Our Brothers

Chapter Sixteen: Banners of Our Brothers

 

_July 14 th, 1275_

_La Valette Castle, Temeria, Empire of Nilfgaard_

To His Nobility the Grand Duke of Temeria Joseph var Attre,

           

            It pains me to write this message to you. I seek only to keep the glories of our Nilfgaardian brothers and sisters whole, and I am greatly saddened to see how little you seem to care in that goal. Make no mistake, I ordered the assault over the Pontar at Rinde that shattered your forces. I am indeed the one who ordered Baroness La Valette to stand her soldiers down when you attempted to levy them a week ago.  While I am saddened at the loss of wholesome Nilfgaardian brethren, I will not allow such insolence to stand.

 

            But I tire for your upstart rebellion. There are more pressing problems for me to worry about. I am certain you are aware that two undefeated Koviri armies remain north of the Rogge only because they seek to strike us when we are weakest. If you believe you have the expertise to defeat the commanders who could slay our beloved Emperor, you are terribly, terribly mistaken.

           

            I send you this message now, as my forces prepare to siege Vizima and end your rebellion. Make no mistake, I have no desire to hurt my fellow countrymen. But I will not let this insurrection continue. Nilfgaard must be united if it is to stand a chance against the enemy. Surrender your claim to the throne, and I will allow you to retain most of your privileges as duke. As a var Attre, you must understand how important it is to give for your country. I only ask you to sacrifice now to save the realm you love.

 

                                                                                    Forever loyal and vigilant,

                                                                                                            General Morvran Voorhis,                                                                                                       the Rightful Emperor of Nilfgaard

 

            With that, Voorhis put down his pen, and looked over his message one last time. He was fairly certain the Duke would not relent; the man was too headstrong for his own good, and didn’t know when it was time to give up.

 

            What little remained of the Temeria divisions had scattered; their morale was low and they had little faith in their commander. Nearly two thousand men formerly a part of the Temerian legions had fled over the Pontar to join Voorhis. Barely a thousand men held Vizima, and Voorhis was a master of siege warfare. The assault would be no problem whatsoever.

 

            The real issue lied with coming down south of the Pontar. He knew the Koviri forces wouldn’t hesitate to strike south if they knew Voorhis wasn’t defending Tretogor; he was the main reason they had stayed north for now.

 

            Voorhis knew it would be impossible to recover from this war. They would never restore Redania, and frankly, he could accept that. The land was more hassle then it was worth. Aedirn was different, however. The loss of Aedirn could mean the loss of Lyria and Temeria, which he was never going to allow as long as he lived.

 

            He got up and looked out a window from his room in the tower of the castle. From afar, it was almost like he could see the hills that marked the gateway to Vizima.

 

            _One way or another, Vizima will be mine._

**One week later…**

_July 21 st, 1275_

_Vizima, Temeria, Empire of Nilfgaard_

_Army Camp outside city_

            Voorhis rapped his knuckles against his desk in his camp. The beat of rally drums had been beating since early morning, and he was beginning to wonder whether or not the duke would answer his summons.

 

            They both knew what a refusal of the peace offering meant. Voorhis was certain the man had seen the catapults and trebuchets armed and readied. They simply awaited orders from their commander.

 

            Voorhis knew Vizima very well; he had been there routinely in years past, and was responsible for taking it during the last great war of expansion. Var Attre had no doubt repaired the damages, but that did not mean he could completely redesign the city.

 

            No, the siege would be quick and brutal. The people of Vizima would be taught what it would mean to go against the rightful heir of the Nilfgaardian throne, and Voorhis would be able to focus on the much more dangerous threat of Kovir.

 

            At least, that was the plan.

 

***

            “General Voorhis.” With that, Voorhis looked up from his desk. His chamberlain had opened his tent to reveal Duke Var Attre, being escorted by several of his own guards.

 

            “Thank you for bringing them in, Bruno. You are free to leave.” With that, the chamberlain exited the tent. Var Attre’s guards took spots directly opposite the general’s guards, and the duke himself sat down right in front of Voorhis.

 

            He looked quite shaken up. It was clear to Voorhis that the duke had not realized how powerful and intimidating Nilfgaardian engines of war could look when kept in the right hands. His dark blue and black uniform, clearly based on his standard noble attire based on the Temerian lilies, was slightly damaged and crooked. His boots were caked in mud. He had seen better days.

 

            “I must say Duke var Attre, I admired your courage. Most would not dare to do as you have done, raise your banners and fight for your country. Ten thousand black suns, a mixture of every Northern regiment and many Southern ones.” With that, Voorhis looked down to the map in front of them, showing the most recent battles and sieges, outlining the present situation in the Northern Kingdoms.

 

            “But courage means nothing without direction. You learned this, or at least I would have hoped you would, time and time again, as well trained and well led Koviri and Kaedweni forces broke your banners at battle after battle after battle. Not only did you lose Aedirn, but your cowardly retreat from the kingdom means Lyria is exposed, a situation the Nordlings are already taking advantage of.” With that, the duke’s eyes went wide. Voorhis chuckled as he tossed the man the message.

 

            It was a report from the commander of the garrison at Rivia. The Nordlings were camping at the Lyrian Crossroads, the point where the paths to Aldersberg, Rivia, Scala, and Lyria all met. 

 

            “That message was sent several days ago. We haven’t heard anything since.”

 

            The Duke stuttered, surprised. “But…I ordered Findabair to strike the Nordlings if they moved from Aldersberg! That two facing elven bitch!”

           

            To that, Voorhis smirked. “You honestly believed that the elves would side with us, when it is significantly better for them to stay neutral? They believe the war is lost, and being on the losing side would only undo all of the work Findabair has put into Dol Blathanna.”

 

            The duke looked at Voorhis directly in the eye. “And what about you, general? Do you believe the war is lost?”

 

            Voorhis glared back. He knew exactly what kind of game the duke was trying to play, and his refusal to take seriously this important matter was only one more reason for him to do as the witcher had suggested…

 

            _Stop it. Get both of them out of your head. They are like bees, buzzing around your head, attempting to draw you away. Don’t let them get to you._

 

            The general cleared his throat as he responded. “I won’t lie to you, most of the land lost is unsalvageable. Unless by some miracle the Redanians rebel against their new Koviri rulers, we will never retake all of Redania. The same goes for Aedirn. I’ve veteraned to many campaigns to know how this will turn out duke. The war can only be stopped if Kovir believes further invasions will not go as easily as this has so far.”

 

            “Why on earth would they believe that?”

 

            “Unlike Nilfgaard, Kovir is limited in manpower. Or at least that was the case. We are at a lull in our strength, but even then we could match them on the field in numbers. Kovir cannot push farther than the Pontar; they won’t manage it and we won’t let them. There is simply no way for them to occupy that large of an area and continue to succeed the way they have.”

 

            “So what’s your solution, general? Surrender? Concede the greatest loss in Nilfgaardian history in decades?”

 

            “No, Duke var Attre. I will save this realm with a united front. Whether or not you are a part of that is frankly up to you.”

 

***

 

**Six weeks earlier…**

_June 1 st, 1275_

_Northern Bank of the Buine, West of Blaviken_

_Redania, Empire of Nilfgaard_

_Koviri Scout Camp_

            The night had just fallen. The trees rustled in the wind. Several of the scouts decided to head off for sleep as the remainder took watch. It seemed relatively peaceful. As far as they could tell, the Nilfgaardian forces were several leagues south, and were not an immediate threat.

           

            By all the gods they were wrong.

 

            The raiders hit hard, killing the guards in a few strikes, and taking the entire camp prisoner. They began searching through the camp to find any valuable information that they could either take back or destroy right then and there.

           

            Behind the camp, on a small hill, lied a tree. The view of said tree from the camp was hidden by the darkness of night, but from there, one could see everyone and everything in the camp.

           

            It’s exactly what one would want if they were preparing to strike the camp.

 

            The rustling of the wind, mixed with the shouts of the Nilfgaardian soldiers and the screams of tortured scouts, hid the sound of a sword being drawn next to the tree, followed shortly thereafter by the sound of some sort of magical charm being cast.

 

            _Come on…move a little bit more…_

 

            One of the guards closest to the tree, on the outside of the camp, fell to his knees with a clearly audible thud. Several of the Nilfgaardian soldiers turned to see a bolt lodged deep in his neck, the tip having pierced through the other side’s skin. They all drew their weapons, bracing for a strike. The commander ordered the men to spread out, and as they did, silence fell upon the camp. They scanned the hills to see nothing around them.

 

            The next thing they knew, everything went dark. A smoke bomb had gone off, and they were all disoriented.

           

            The commander’s head swung side to side, desperately trying to make sense of his surroundings and find where the bomb had come from. Before he could shout an order at his men, however, he felt everything go cold. He was dead before he hit the ground.

 

            The soldier right in front of him felt a spray of liquid against his back. He turned quickly, his sword readied. The last thing he saw was a flash of metal. His head came right off, flying into the night sky.

 

            One of the soldiers managed to make his way out of the smoke cloud, desperately gasping for clean air, when he heard a thud right next to him. He turned to see one of his comrades’ heads. He shrieked and fell over, falling directly into a rock. The concussion blurred his vision temporarily, and he couldn’t hear or see properly as he shook, his knees on the ground, his sword somewhere too far away.

           

            As his vision was restored, he blinked to see a man in front of him. He only got a moment to see the man as the blade came down, but he was able to make out one small detail; the griffin medallion on his neck.

 

            Damien cleaved the man in half from his shoulder in; the body made a disgusting sound as it fell apart without bone or muscle to keep it together. The smoke had cleared, and four Nilfgaardians remained. They were standing in a diamond shape, with the two on the right and left sides holding large tower shields with the Nilfgaardian sun on them.

 

            A smile appeared on Damien’s lips, as he twirled his sword into a stance he felt comfortable with. He started pacing slightly, the soldiers watching his every step. It’s what made it even better when Damien blasted the front man to the floor with a quick twirl of his hand.

 

            As the front man hit the floor, Damien rolled closer, stabbing the man in the leg, before blocking a strike from the soldier to his right. He then moved back, repeatedly dodging close strikes before he managed to roll behind one of the shield men and strike him in the back, slashing him down his spine. The man fell over, giving Damien the space he needed.

 

            He was like lightning, bouncing back and forth between the soldiers, blocking and dodging and countering strikes with great ease. He finished two more of them like this, leaving only one soldier, who didn’t even have a shield and was wielding his sword with only one hand. Damien smirked, expecting this to end very quickly.

 

            He rushed forward, coming down a strong strike, only he had been expecting the man to counter, and he didn’t; as a result, Damien was thrown off balance and stumbled slightly. The soldier took this opportunity to move closer to Damien, which further threw off the witcher.

 

            _The hell is he doing?_ What the soldier was doing became obvious to Damien very shortly. Unfortunately, it was too late.

 

            The soldier had saved a grapeshot bomb to the end, and rushed against the witcher, pressing the bomb against his chest as he set it off.

 

            The soldier erupted, a frenzy of red and white and a vast array of colors, his organs flying everywhere, with pieces of chainmail stuck between them.

 

            Damien’s Quen sign had absorbed some of the damage, allowing him to stay in one piece, but he was lodged with shrapnel and fell to the floor in searing pain. The few remaining Koviri scouts came out from hiding and rushed to his side and brought him to the camp, hoping he could recover.

 

            As they carried him off, he struggled to keep track of time. He couldn’t open his mouth, or even breathe properly. His vision was blurred, and his every body part felt like it was being stabbed repeatedly. He lapsed in and out of consciousness, both on the way to the camp and at the medical tent.

 

            As this was going on, he had no idea what was going on around him. He could hear movement and voices every once in a while, but with no detail and no clarity. But he could have sworn, as the night went on, that someone was sitting by his side, watching him.

 

            Someone with hair red like fire.

 

_End of Chapter Sixteen_

_Author’s Note: I really want to apologize for taking so much longer on these last two chapters, especially considering they are shorter than normal. College has been sucking up most of my time as of late, and getting adjusted took more time than I thought. I’m in a rhythm where I can write again, however, so don’t worry, the story will be finished. I’ve also been having issues figuring it how I want the ending to be accomplished, so planning that out has taken some time. All in all, thank you to everyone who has been reading until now. I’m not going to give up, the ending will make sense with everything I’ve written, and everyone will get drabble at the end._

_Updated list of references: Guns of August, Dragon Age: Origins, Avatar: The Last Airbender, The Sun Also Rises, All Quiet on the Western Front, Harry Potter, Flags of Our Fathers_


	17. Chapter 17: All is Fair in Love and Wa

Chapter Seventeen: All Is Fair in Love and War

 

_July 22 nd, 1275_

_Koviri Army Camp, Northern Banks of the Rogge_

_Redania, occupied by Kovir, Empire of Nilfgaard_

            It rolls. In and out, swish, swish, slosh, slosh.

            The water laps at the banks, a sparkling blue all the way across from one end to the other. Its movement is peaceful, relaxing, eternal and yet ever so temporary.

           

            Triss’ hair was tied back, her face looking out over the banks. Her face was emotionless. She wanted only to forget, to move on, to let pass the parts of her past that now plagued her.

 

            For the first year she had been in Kovir, she had always had a small part of her, the smallest portion, which questioned her decision. Every time she made a mistake regarding Koviri customs, every name she forgot, it slipped through.

 

            _You could have stayed. You didn’t need to come out here._

 

            For a while she was convinced she could prove that part of herself wrong, and for a while she did. She came to grow used to Kovir and its strikingly different land and people. She even met someone who fit her personality, a man who could understand her, who wasn’t already tied up with another woman.

 

            And now he was gone. He had been gone for months, and she had no idea whether she would ever see him again. When she was certain she couldn’t find him, he’d returned for a shortest moment, only to disappear and ruin any chance of them reuniting.

 

            Unless…

 

            Triss had an option. Tonight, the army group was moving south. The vanguards had already begun surrounding Tretogor, and when the whole host arrived, the siege would begin. Triss’ orders were to support the assaulting forces in taking the city.

 

            But she knew Damien was in the prison. That was the only place she could think of where Voorhis would have kept him, safe behind an army of soldiers. She had to get to him. This was her chance.

 

            But was it worth it? Abandon her post, risk everything for a chance at saving him? For who, the man who had left Triss in the first place? The man whose idiocy landed him in the prison in the first place? Was he worth it?

 

            Part of her yearned to throw him out, to forget him like an awful memory. But at the same time, part of her wanted to see him one last time, to hear his reasoning, to have him explain this insanity they had been through.

           

            Somehow, through it all, she needed him. He still mattered to her, just as much if not more than her work did.

           

She got up, looking over the water. Remembering all the times he had been right, when he had done things she would have questioned into nonexistence, only for said actions to work out in the end.

 

            It was difficult, but she knew she had to trust him. To believe in him, to support him.

 

            She had to make sure he was safe.

 

***

**Three days later…**

_July 25 th, 1275_

_Outside the City of Tretogor_

_Tretogor, Redania, Empire of Nilfgaard_

            Triss prepared for the worst as her unit of mages moved through the smashed gates of the city, guarded by men of the 3rd Koviri Division. The gates of the city had been taken and the walls were falling to Koviri soldiers. Thousands of soldiers were rushing in to defeat the Nilfgaardian army and take the city.

           

            They moved up the hill, fighting their way through broken divisions and attempting to avoid terrified civilians. The main Nilfgaardian forces had been defeated at the gates, leaving behind weaker regiments the broke quickly at the sight of the Koviri onslaught.

 

            Triss and her men were making their way up to the palace to secure the city for Kovir, when she realized that the path to her left led to the prison beneath the palace. She knew that this would be her opportunity, to ensure that Damien was in fact okay and alive, but she also knew that her orders were to assist in taking the palace. Not to run off and abandon her unit in the middle of a fight.

 

            She looked around, seeing the fighting was still going on, but it was clear the Koviri army was going to win. She called down a chain of lightning bolts, killing some of the enemy troops around them, and ran off under the cover of the aftershocks.

 

            She made her way down the path, towards the prison entrance. While it was probably normally guarded quite heavily, there was almost no one standing in front of the gate. Triss blasted the two guards in front of the door with a fireball, and then forcefully held one of them in midair.

            “Give me your key. Now.” Her voice was steel, her expression death. The soldier immediately fumbled through his pockets, struggling thanks to the burns Triss had given him, and handed her the key. She snapped his neck and threw his body across the cobblestone street.

 

            She entered the prison, making her way through as far as she could. She scanned every cell, but failed to find Damien. There were basically no guards left in the prison, and from her searching, it appeared as if Damien wasn’t there.

 

            She began hyperventilating. She needed to find him. If not for the fact that she needed to know he was okay, at least for the fact that she needed something to show she had not simply abandoned her post to die.

 

 _Maybe they moved him?_ She searched the warden’s office, looking through his notes on prisoner arrivals and departures. There, she found what she needed. However, it was not the news she needed to see.

 

            Damien had been removed from the prison three days earlier, on route to La Valette. Once he reached there, he would be moved to the location of the Nilfgaardian army under Voorhis.

 

            _Three days ago…Shit. Shit. Fuck. Oh fucking shit. He’s probably across the Pontar by now if they left three days ago. Goddamnit._

 

            She blasted the bookcase next to her down in a fit of rage, storming out of the prison in anger and disappointment. It had all been for naught.

 

***

**Several hours later…**

****

            Triss was waiting with the other mages in their temporary new quarters in the occupied city, helping to nurse the wounded and look over what had been retrieved, when a page summoned her to the Field Marshal’s office in the royal palace.

 

            _Time for me to get my due_. She swallowed her spit, clearly nervous as she followed the page up the hill to the palace.

 

            The royal palace itself was in ruins. Large portions of it were charred or damaged from bombardment from Koviri siege engines. The entrance was manned by a large number of Koviri Chargers, still fresh and excited from the fight. Many of them were still caked in blood from the assault.

           

            She entered the palace, following the page into one of the larger offices that the Field Marshal had temporarily taken as his own.  She entered the room, and the page shut the door as she took a seat.

 

            Field Marshal Frederick was noticeably annoyed at Triss’ sight as she came in. He was seated behind his desk, clearly busy drafting a letter, with a local map of Southern Redania and Northern Velen in front of him. He put his feather down when Triss entered and moved the letter aside. He motioned her to sit, and she did.

 

            He got up, his hands clutching the table as he stared into Triss’ tired and stressed green eyes.

 

            “Miss Merigold, I was under the impression that your orders, along with the orders for all of the Corps of Mages, were to assist in the assault of this city, correct?”

 

            “Correct, and-”

 

            “You may speak after I am done asking questions. What unit were you assigned to assist, Miss Merigold?”

 

            Triss paused, breathing slowly as she responded. “The 3rd Koviri Division.”

 

            “And where were you supposed to lead them?”

 

            She paused again. “To the palace.” Her voice had gotten very quiet.

 

            “And did you complete your order?” The Field Marshal’s voice grew rougher and angrier with each question.

 

            Triss wasn’t sure how to answer the question. _I could be a smartass about it…_ “To my knowledge, the Division was able to reach the palace.”

 

            Frederick was fuming. “Don’t play games with me Merigold. I am not someone you want to cross. Did you assist the division the entire time they were moving on the palace?”

 

            Triss could see the rage in his eyes, and decided to just be frank. “No, Field Marshal, I did not.”

 

            “What were you doing instead?”

 

            “Searching the prison.”

 

            “Was any part of your orders to search the prison?”

 

            “No.”

 

            “Triss Merigold, you do realize you have just admitted to disobeying a direct order from your commanding officer and abandoning your post in the middle of combat. Do you have anything to say for yourself?” The Field Marshal turned around, looking out the window at the setting sun.

 

            She looked away, unable to look at Frederick. “I did it for Damien.” The Field Marshal turned around, surprised.

 

            “What?”

           

            Triss cleared her throat. “For Damien. He was being held in the Tretogor prison, so I had to search for him, make sure he was alive.”

 

            Frederick crossed his arms. “And I’m guessing you couldn’t find him?”

 

            Triss shook her head no in silence. “But I did find out what happened to him. They moved him-” but before Triss could finish his sentence, a page came into the office.

 

            “Field Marshal, terribly sorry to interrupt, but there’s someone out here who demands to meet you. Claims you two have a history together?” With that, Triss and Frederick got up, to see who it was. They exited the office and made their way to the entrance, which was manned by dozens of soldiers. A Koviri officer was standing by the entrance, arguing with the man who was trying to enter the castle.

           

            Although Triss couldn’t make out his face from the distance, there was much she could tell. She could tell he was wearing a sword on his back rather then at his hip. She could tell that he was of average height and average build, and she could make out his hair, disheveled in black.

 

            Her pace quickened as she got closer to him.

 

            And she could not control herself from sprinting right into him as she saw his griffin medallion around his neck.

 

***

**The day before…**

_July 23 rd, 1275_

_North of Oxenfurt_

_Redania, Empire of Nilfgaard_

 

            Dawn had broken only minutes earlier over the fields. The caravan moved along, two sets of riders in front, two sets of riders behind, and half a dozen men around the cell carriage. The escort had just past Burlwich earlier and was on track to cross the Pontar well before midday.  However, the sound of the carriage wheels turning against the dirt path were suddenly eclipsed by the sound of knocking from inside the cell.

 

            The escort stopped, and the commander opened the hatch to view inside. He peered inside to see the prisoner, who had just drew their attention.

 

            “Da fuck you on about?” The commander was very noticeably annoyed.

 

            “I need to take a shit.”

 

            “Fuck off. You can wait till Oxenfurt.” With that, he went to shut the hatch, when the prisoner interjected.

 

            “If you want this cell to smell like shit, that’s your decision. The smell is going to get out. This isn’t completely sealed.” The commander huffed, realizing the prisoner was right.

 

            “Get him out, take him up by those rocks, and keep two crossbows on him at all times.” The commander’s orders were followed, and two soldiers went in and removed the prisoner’s chains and escorted him up the hill next to the path.

 

            The prisoner took a squat behind the rocks, his back facing the soldiers, who kept their crossbows pointed towards him the whole time. After he finished, he got back up, walking towards the soldiers, who turned slightly at an angle. They weren’t really sure what to do as he came towards them, so they lower their crossbows slightly to move out of his way. The prisoners stride indicated to them he wasn’t about to try anything.

 

            Which proved to be a critical mistake.

 

            As he came up to them, his hands moved like lightning, grabbing a knife from each of their belts and in a blur slashing both of their necks. Before any of the other guards could react, he rolled forwards, moving out of their crosshairs, and threw one of the knives. It landed directly in one of the soldier’s eyes, throwing him off balance.

 

            The prisoner moved up to a guard as the man tried to draw his blade. His throat gushed blood as the prisoner pivoted around him, slicing his neck open, and pushing the man into another soldier as he removed the man’s blade from its hilt.

 

            “Kill the witcher!” The call rallied from the commander, and two of the horsemen charged towards the previously imprisoned witcher. The man dodged out of the way of the first rider, and then slashed the foot off of the second rider, throwing him off his balance and causing him to careen off into the woods. The other two riders held back, riding in circles around the stationary wagons, as a standoff began between the witcher and the soldiers.

 

            The witcher rolled forwards, striking quickly at the knees of the guard he had hit with the knife, knocking him to the floor, before dodging a slash from the commander himself. The witcher kicked the commander in the chest, slamming him into the wagon, and sidestepped a bolt from the last guard.

           

            He ran forwards to the man who had just fired at him. The guard stumbled back, drawing his blade as he dropped his crossbow, but was far too late. The witcher charged forward, hooking the guard’s blade in an arch above them, before coming down to slash him on the back of his neck, severing his spine and almost detaching his head from the rest of his body. The guard’s sword went flying into a tree, and his body fell to the dirt lifeless. Blood squirted everywhere, spraying over the witcher’s white prisoner linen.

 

            The witcher backed up from the cart, assessing the situation. _Three riders, the commander, and one guard. I can do this._ He twirled his blade, curling a smile, and quickly cast Quen.

 

            The three riders charged at him one after another. The witcher dodged the first swing, deflected the second, and caught the third, drawing it in and forcibly dismounting the rider in the process. The rider was ripped off his horse and fell with a great deal of force; his collision into a nearby rock made a loud crunching sound. The witcher flinched slightly, before looking back to see the commander charging at him. He met the man’s swing, locking his arm with the guard, and flipped him over, knocking the wind out of him as he slashed his throat.

 

            The witcher spit out the blood that entered his mouth unexpectedly, and turned around to be hit in the chest with a crossbow bolt from the last standing guard. While his Quen sign absorbed the entire blow, the explosion of his shield threw him back on the ground, and he scrambled to pick up his shield and cast Quen again.

            The riders came back for a second pass. The witcher deflected the first rider and with a quick flash of Igni, dismounted the second rider. By the time the rider could realize what happened, the witcher cut his head off.

 

            The first rider dismounted, and the two remaining guards circled the witcher, waiting for him to make a mistake. The dismounted rider went for what he thought was an opportunity, which was actually a feint from the witcher, drawing him in, which led to the other guard to swing, slashing his fellow man in the face.

 

            In the midst of the confusion, the witcher blasted them to the floor with Aard, and they were dead before they could get up.

 

            The witcher looked around at his surroundings, realizing that his shirt was covered in blood, and that he hadn’t had a real meal in days. From his estimate, he couldn’t be more than day’s ride from Tretogor, but he had no horse.

 

            _Getting back to Tretogor is the main goal. The Koviri army must be sieging the city tomorrow. If I can just get back…_

           

            He noticed that the place his skirmish with the guards had occurred was fairly close to a large manor. He figured it would be worthwhile to try to his luck in getting help, and if he couldn’t…Axii had a habit of making people useful.

 

            He set off, but stopped after taking a few steps, and headed back towards the commander of the guards. He searched the man’s pockets, and got what he was looking for.

 

            He took a sword sheath and draped it over his shoulders, placing the blade on his back, and put his griffin medallion back on.

 

            _Damn, it feel’s good to be back._

 

_End of Chapter Seventeen_

 

_Author’s Note: Sorry about the insane break. College happened._

_But hey, I said I would finish it._

_Thank you for bearing with me._

 


End file.
